A Supernatural Christmas Carol
by SassyLilPanda
Summary: It's Christmas Eve. Sam is lost and ready to give up. Dean is angry and confused. The boys have three surprising visitors that hopefully change their minds and their hearts.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The Visitor**

His bed was always up against the wall, nearest the window. His brother's bed was always nearest the door. And even twenty eight years later, it was still like that. Always seemed to be standing guard, always was protective. It never changed. It really seemed to especially intensify since Sam had gotten his soul back. He was still grateful for Bobby letting them stay there while Sam worked through those first agonizing hours of being resouled. Though granted those first few days were probably the worst Sam had ever dealt with in his entire life, emotions slamming him in every possible direction, feelings that he hadn't felt in almost a year and a half left him nearly paralyzed the first day. A quivering mass of fear, shame, guilt, and heartache curled up on the bed and unyielding. The first day he couldn't even bring himself to speak, he'd just stared and shook convulsively while Dean tried urging him up. His older brother had sat with him, running fingers through his hair, talking to him, offering him food, water, anything to get him to move, but all Sam could do was just look at him as he struggled to process all the thoughts, memories and emotions flowing through him until he fell asleep about midday, from all the exhaustion, and slept the entire afternoon and night through until the next morning.

He'd woken Dean up with a low, just absolutely heartbreaking keening noise coming from his bed, curled up in a ball with tears streaming down his face and his shoulders trembling with every hitched breath. He'd cried and cried and cried and could do nothing but cry and repeat over and over and over again how sorry he was while Dean stayed by his side and tried his best to calm his baby brother. He helped Sam sit up, drink water to keep himself from becoming dehydrated. A few times he'd attempted to dry Sam's tears, but it became pointless after awhile. Sam eventually just cried himself to sleep. The third day there was no crying, but Sam had woke up screaming. He'd screamed and clutched his head and wouldn't stop screaming. It had been worse than the times Dean had to put Sam in the panic room for detox. He'd even considered rushing Sam down to the panic room, as they'd been at Bobby's, but he couldn't find it in his heart to do that to his little brother. He needed contact. There was no sense in him being alone. He wasn't violent, just screaming.

So instead, while Sam collapsed to his knees screaming absolute bloody murder, Dean went to his knees along with Sam and held onto him, talking to him, speaking soothing words and trying to calm him, but all in vain. All his younger brother had done was bury his head into Dean's shoulder, continuously screaming, his cries becoming muffled by his brother's shirt. It had gotten so bad that he'd called Castiel down to find out what was wrong with Sam. Surprisingly, the angel was there in a heartbeat and a flutter of wings. Cas had put both hands on the sides of Sam's head and looked at Dean gravely. "Sam's emotions are making the memories of all the regrettable things he's done without his soul along with his memories of the past very powerful. Both of these sets of memories are crashing against one another causing Sam immense, emotional, inner pain," the angel had explained.

Dean had pleaded for help then, and Cas kept his hands on the sides of Sam's head. The younger Winchester had stopped screaming and slowly raised his head to face Cas, his eyes widened and frightened, face beet red from the screaming, his breath heavy, gasping and erratic, but the screaming had come to a complete halt. Then Castiel gently placed two fingers on Sam's forehead, putting the young hunter into a deep, angel-induced slumber. "This should help those sets of memories from conflicting against one another and should make it easier on Sam, but I will warn you Dean. Sam is broken and he's going to need you to help fix him. He is what you might refer to as damaged goods." And Sam slept on and through the entire night, with Dean staying right by his side should his baby brother need anything.

The fourth day, Sam had woken still feeling like pure shit, but better than the first few days had been. Dean had fallen asleep in his bed next to him and so Sam had silently slipped out, retreated to the bathroom to shower and shave. He'd come out thoroughly clean, baby-faced and dressed just as Dean sat up in the bed looking at him, throwing him questions, asking him if he was alright. Sam had given him a shaky smile and told him the truth that no, he wasn't and he didn't know when he'd be, but that he couldn't let this control his entire life and everything he was doing. Not only that, but as long as Dean was there, he'd make it through. Dean had smiled back, and the two brothers headed down to the kitchen and ate breakfast while Sam began scouring his laptop for a hunt. Dean had watched and knew it was for his sake while Sam pulled himself together and focused on the job. And so they hunted together, fought monsters and such all the while with Sam flinching, blanching and shying away from his brother, terrified of doing something wrong or hurting him. Things continued on like this and Dean kept quiet about it, not wanting to say the wrong thing that might upset or hurt a very fragile-stated Sam. The younger Winchester had to admit, he was grateful for Dean doing this for him. He wasn't sure how much he could honestly take before he truly fell apart again.

That was awhile ago. Sam sighed and leaned back against the wooden headboard of their now warm motel room and watched the snow steadily falling out the window so near his bed. It was Christmas Eve and Dean was seated on the edge of his own bed, downing a bottle of whiskey. He held up a more than half drank beer bottle, sloshing around the warm, left over contents at the bottom of the bottle. Every since he'd gotten his soul back and was still hunting alongside his brother, Sam couldn't help but feel the darkening cloud that continued to fill him up from the inside out and settle over the core of his very being. He'd fought hard against it, reminding himself that he was lucky to be alive and be with his brother again, but then he'd remember everything he did to hurt Dean, and it pushed him deeper and deeper into a pit of despair until sometimes Sam would wait until Dean was sound asleep and then would retreat into the bathroom. He'd shut the door softly behind him so as not to wake his snoozing brother, turning on the shower or the faucet to drown out any noise while he curled into a ball in the furthest corner of the bathroom to sob his lungs out.

Sometimes, he'd slip out of the motel room as silently as possible and take a walk to try and clear his head, but it never worked. His mind was always working, always thinking, neverending. It was always filled with something no matter how hard Sam tried to clear it. He'd go for walks, read books, focus on jobs, do research for whatever hunt they were on whether it was needed or not, watch TV, but the only thing that seemed to give his brain a break from all of this was just sleep. Sam blamed himself for Dean losing Lisa and Ben. He blamed himself for letting his brother get turned into a vampire, but of course he didn't tell Dean any of this. He didn't want his older brother worrying about him. Dean had enough to deal with.

Sam knew Dean better than anybody. He knew that if Dean had an inkling of what was going through his mind, the older Winchester would be even _worse_ on the constant outlook for his younger brother than he was right now. Sam never wanted Dean to know just how much suffering, how much heartbreak and remorse he was actually feeling since the return of his essence. When the two brothers were out together, cruising, Sam put on a false smile, would laugh at all of Dean's jokes, just chilled in the front seat of the Impala. They'd joke around with each other in diners about the food or waitresses.

Dean never wasted a moment teasing Sam about the silent "how you doin's" he used to give girls back when he was soulless. Sam kept up with the playful, all-in-good-fun brotherly banter, and they even teased each other on simple salt-n-burns, using placating gestures around Dean to keep him thinking Sam was fine, but the constant feeling of remorse and contrition weighed over him daily. Guilt for all the innocent lives he took when it was just his body traveling around topside, hunting like it was the only thing in his life he had, not caring about other people or even caring about his own brother or just using pretty, unsuspecting women for casual, careless sex because he'd been horny and sex still felt good and he'd wanted some.

The guilt and shame he felt when it came to Jessica and for Madison would come back over that and how much he knew they'd hurt if they had known what Sam had done. He hadn't worried or cared about their memory during _that_ time. Sometimes when the pain got to be too overbearing, Sam could understand, prior to his resouling, _why_ his mind had processed that it didn't want it's soul back, that it didn't want to feel all this endless torment. All that had mattered before was getting the job done and moving on to the next because that's all Sam had really known and understood...sort of, but at the same time Sam had had no real instinct or a moral center to keep him grounded.

Nope. He'd just went on the hunt, killing innocent people if they were in his way on a job without a care in the world. It wasn't that Sam didn't care in a cruel, harsh "I don't give a rat's ass" sort of way, no. It was because he _couldn't_ care. But having his soul was very important and necessary. Innocent people didn't deserve to die just because they were in his way. His brother didn't deserve to be repeatedly lied to and betrayed. Not to mention there were also the memories of Hell, but Sam didn't want to go into that. He felt he deserved that suffering, and so Sam didn't dwell on the memories of Hell. He'd had it coming to him. All of it. He'd let Lucifer out and it was only fitting he put him back in and deal with every bit of torture and suffering that had been laid on him. The only time he couldn't control his memories of Hell was in his nightmares. That's when he'd find Dean waking him up. It was like Jessica's death all over again.

Sam huffed a sigh, drinking down the last disgusting backwash of warm beer before sitting the bottle on the nightstand in between his and Dean's beds. Sam heaved himself from his bed, making his way over to the small kitchen inside of the motel room where a little makeshift refridgerator stood. He opened up the door to grab himself another beer and traveled back to have another seat on his bed, hand groping for the TV remote to flick on the television and at least have some kind of noise in the room if and his brother weren't going to talk. Sam had noticed for about the last week that Dean was barely speaking at all, and he'd wondered why. Sam wondered if perhaps he'd done something to piss off his big brother or hurt him. He sifted through his brain, brushing past previous memories to see if he'd done anything recently. Not that he could recall.

Though not wanting to risk actually pissing off his older brother, he kept to himself and only spoke when spoken to or when it was absolutely necessary. Sam couldn't help but wonder what was going through Dean's mind as he flipped on the television and watched his wayward brother throw back another long drink straight from the bottle. He was eventually going to end up drinking himself into a stupor. Here it was Christmas Eve. There were no jobs this year as far as Sam could tell as he'd definitely kept his eyes and ears peeled on both the news on TV and his laptop, but much to his and Dean's dismay, there was nothing. Sam was about to say something to his older brother when he was completely cut off by a large fluttering of wings. Dean sat up blinking and Sam looked up to see Castiel standing in front of them, his face routinely blank as normal. His eyes flicked back and forth between the two Winchesters before the angel spoke up.

"Well, aren't you two a sight?" he responded in his deadpanned tone. Cas had definitely picked up on some of the Dean Winchester sarcasm. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Sitting in your room on Christmas Eve drinking. You should be at the church alter praying and praising the birth of Christ."

"Yeah, well, we didn't feel like pulling on our snow boots this year," responded Dean in his customary way with derisive smirk to match. He took another long drink from his bottle. "What do you want, Cas? Shouldn't you be upstairs fighting alongside the heavenly host?"

Sam said nothing running a hand through his hair, and Castiel shook his head gravely. "I'm beginning to think he was right. I think you two need reminded of quite a few things. Maybe not only the importance of Christmas but the importance of yourselves. Of how you're needed."

"Why does it matter anyway?" Sam piped up, his voice an octave higher than usual and without a doubt anger touch the tip. He stood up swiftly from his bed to tower over Castiel. The younger Winchester laughed scornfully. "Importance of me? Heh, Dean maybe, but not me," he insisted shaking his dark head, causing long locks to fall into his hazel eyes. Sam brushed them back in an irritated manner. "In case you forgot, Cas, I _killed _innocent people, okay? I didn't care if they were innocent or not. If they were in my way when I was doing the job, I just got rid of them. I let my _own brother_ get turned into a monster while I stood idly by and watched all for the sake of the damn job and now you're coming here and telling me that I'm important? Especially on Christmas Eve? You've got to be joking," Sam snorted mockingly and turned away from the angel, draining his newly opened beer before turning and throwing it across the motel room.

Castiel stood still in his usual, calm, motionless manner and observed the young hunter, not allowing Sam's momentary show of temper affect him. "If you truly feel that way, Sam, then why don't you pray for forgiveness?"

"HAH!" Dean laughed out loud at that one. "You don't think he hasn't tried, Cas? You don't think that maybe just _maybe _if God were listening, he wouldn't have left my little brother trapped down in a damn cage, with two pissed off archangels, one of them being the damn Devil to boot, to suffer? After he took one for the _whole_ damn team to save the entire world?"

"I didn't mean-," Castiel began but was cut off once again by an angry, yet still protective Dean.

"This is stupid, Cas. You can't blame Sam for losing that 'undying faith' he used to have after all the bullshit he's been through," Dean was now standing up in front of where the angel stood unmoving, and Sam had turned his back on both of them, staring out of the window with his hands loosely resting against his hips. It was his usual posture when Sam was feeling pissed off or hurt or both. "And you can't actually expect Sam to sit there on your little church alters and pray for forgiveness when it's not even _his_ fault to begin with!" Dean was shouting now and Castiel just stood and stared at him.

"Well, this is besides the point anyway," Cas began as the Winchesters had both now fallen quiet; one standing in front of him staring at him with fury blazing in his vivid, green eyes and the other with his back still turned, staring out of the window, position unchanging. "I came to tell you that both you need reminding of many things. Tonight you will be visited by three spirits." Castiel chose to ignore the jeering laugh that shot out of Dean's mouth and the snort that escaped Sam. "They will take you through your past, your present and your future."

"What is this, Cas? The freaking Christmas Carol?" questioned Sam, as he turned around to face Castiel with one, thin eyebrow raised inquiringly at the angel, his hazel eyes seering into him.

"I'm sorry. I do not understand that reference," Castiel responded, a look of confusion carefully grazing his angelic features.

Dean huffed loudly. "Well, as far as I'm concerned, after everything we've dealt with, tolerated and been through these past couple of years, I say we're more than entitled to be Scrooges if we damn well want," the older Winchester growled, his arms folding over his chest.

"I apologize again, Dean, but I still don't understand that reference." Castiel cocked an eyebrow before continuing. "These spirits will be visiting you in hopes of giving you both reminders of how important you are. How important you are to the hunting world, to the people you've saved, to the people yet to be saved and to each other." But before either brother had a chance to say a word to Cas, there was a fluttering of wings and the angel disappeared.

Sam flopped himself down heavily on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and hands folded loosely between them. Dean followed suit. Both brothers looked at each other with their eyebrows drawn. "So, Cas is taking us through a Christmas Carol, huh? How delightful," Dean grumbled sardonically taking another heavy drink from his bottle of whiskey. "Well, I certainly don't see any ghosts of Christmas past showing up," he continued, sitting the bottle on the nightstand and leaning back against his pillows, arms folded behind his blond head, green eyes closing.

Sam watched the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest and just shook his back and forth figuring Cas was just being crazy and that nothing as absurd as that was actually going to happen before laying down on his side, facing away from his older brother and sinking into his pillows closing his heavy, hazel eyes. Even if Cas did show them something as ridiculous as that, it wouldn't change how Sam felt about himself. He couldn't be a hunter anymore. There was just no way. Too many misconceptions, too many innocent lives lost because of him and he just couldn't make those mistakes again. Honestly, Sam didn't think he could handle it again at all if another innocent life was lost on his behalf. The younger Winchester closed his weary eyes, near losing himself in the throes of sleep before he heard a voice whispering in his ear. "Sam. Sam Winchester."

~TBC~

Preview of Chapter 2:

"Look at this, Dean," she told him gently as he watched Sam laying in Jessica's arms, his face buried into her hair and shoulders jerking up and down every now and again. He watched the blonde shooshing him and running thin fingers through Sam's shaggy hair, her own head resting against his. "Don't you see? Don't you see how much he loved you back then? How much he cared for you and he missed you? Sam never once stopped loving you. He always thought of you as his big brother and that never changed. Here. Follow me." The scene swiftly changed to a still tall, thin and lanky almost preppy image of Sammy sitting on one of the many benches surrounding the college, clutching his phone in his hand and the name highlighted on his phone was _Dean_. Her hand rested gently on Dean's shoulder. "What does this tell you?" he questioned him gently and Dean just stared at her with an expression that said if only he had known.

* * *

Side Note:

(Due to my anonymous review, I would just like to point out that before anybody starts getting any ideas here, no this story is not about just Dean and only Dean learning a lesson to make him look bad and make Sam look good. I am WELL aware of the mistakes Sam made. I am also well aware of the mistakes Dean made as well. This story is to show both of the boys just how important they truly are. This is a story about brotherly love and support. I'm also not going to make Sam dwell over supposedly not being supportive of Dean or whatever during his time in Hell. He has enough guilt laid on his shoulders to deal with one more thing. Anyway, I'm just pointing out that this is not going to be a one-sided story. Both of these brothers are in this together mutually and will be learning lessons and coming to realizations mutually.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Ghost of Christmas Past**

"Sam and Dean Winchester," Sam heard the voice again barely hovering next to his ear, but his eyes felt so heavy that he doesn't want to open them. "Sam Winchester, can you hear me?" it tries again and the voice sounds so sing-songy and familiar...so beautifully familiar that the younger Winchester can't help but want to open his eyes. Everything was blurry around him as he fought to open his eyes. "Hmmm, Dean?" Sam mumbled, voice filled with drowsiness. "Dean are you talking to me?" Sam groaned and rolled himself over in bed, sitting up. He knew he'd heard a female voice coming from somewhere. Knuckling the sleep out of his eyes, Sam raised his head and let out a loud gasp, breathing out the words "Oh my god."

There standing in front of him was a face he was certain he would never see again. The warm, beautiful and unforgettable face of Jessica Moore. She was smiling tenderly and instead of wearing a long, bloody gown she wore a long, white dress with spaghetti straps laying loosely against her small, delicate shoulders. It seemed to flow out around her feet. She herself even seemed to emit some sort of soft glow all around her body, bouncing off of her golden curls that fell over her shoulders, down the sides of her face and down her back causing them to shine. "And I see you're finally awake," she told Sam playfully folding her arms over her chest in a teasingly, beleaguering gesture. There was a low grunt from behind her as Dean was slowly forcing himself to wake up, but Sam paid it no mind. Instead, he slowly rose from the bed, his legs trembling. He acknowledged he was still fully dressed just the same as he had been when he'd fallen asleep. That's right. He and Dean had pretty much drank themselves to sleep. So, he must be dreaming. This had to be a dream. What else could it be?

Sam had to take a few moments, his hazel eyes widening at the alluring sight that stood in front him, white teeth now standing out between her full, pink pouting lips. Her skin looked so soft that he just ached to reach out and touch it, but he was afraid that if he did, she would disappear. Here lately all he'd been doing was dreaming of Jessica, bloody and angry and accusatory but nothing like this. The younger Winchester swallowed hard a couple of times before finding his voice again. "Jessica?" he spoke in barely above a whisper, and the most wonderful sound filled the room. Her musical laughter. It had been years since he'd heard Jess laugh, and Sam felt like his heart would either swell and burst out of his chest or break into pieces and crumble around his feet; he couldn't decide which. So instead, he just let the erratic beating and the tightening sensation in his chest, working his way up to his throat, continue.

"Of course it's me, silly," laughed the girl. "Who else would it be?"

"I-but...I'm dreaming," breathed Sam as he stood in front of her on trembling legs.

"Or you're not," she spoke the same words in the same tone that Sam remembered from a couple of years ago back in that motel room, and he couldn't help the chill that ran down his spine at that. That had been Lucifer at the time. It couldn't be that...

"No, silly," Jess told him continuing to giggle her girlish giggle. "I'm not Lucifer. I swear. He's still safely locked away in his cage. No, it's really me, Sam. I promise you," she told him growing serious now. Jess reached out a hand to tenderly place, soft and surprisingly warm, fingertips on his cheek. Sam took in a breath of shock, certain that her fingers would go right through him, but they didn't. In fact, she was suprisingly corporeal. He lifted one large hand to place it affectionately over Jessica's and was relieved when his hand didn't go through hers. "Jess," Sam's voice spoke her name once more before gathering the woman in his arms and holding on tightly, doing everything to fight the burning sensation in his eyes. Sam held his breath to keep it from hitching as he buried his face into her neck and into her hair. She even smelled the same and felt the same, there in his arms. "I'm sorry, Jess. I'm so so sorry for _everything_," Sam began apologizing over and over, his voice changing tone and beginning to tremble.

"It's alright, Sam. It's okay. It's all okay. It's not your fault," Jessica told him back, and he relished the feeling of fingers tangling themselves up in the ends of his hair and her fingernails gently raking against his scalp. Just like she always used to do to comfort him. The young hunter decided right then and there that this dream was amazing and wondered if maybe he shouldn't drink himself to sleep more often if it would give him dreams like this. He almost laughed to himself, but he was smiling as he further buried his face down onto the top of her shoulder and held her flush to him just a bit tighter.

"Herrrmmmgrmbl Sam?" garbled Dean somewhere from behind Jessica, and Sam lifted his head to peer over her shoulder only to see his older brother was waking up. But then again...why would Dean be in a dream like this? Sam began feeling slightly confused as Jessica looked back over her own shoulder, Sam assumed, curious to see why Dean would be here at a moment like this. What a strange dream. Usually when his dreams involved Dean they involved his soulless self watching his brother get turned into a vampire. They sometimes even took a harsh turn for the worse with Sam watching his soulless self beheading his own vampire brother, but not this dream. Now what was even more strange was Jess and how she stood here, her touch warm, her voice soft, soothing and full of love for him. Not angry and accusatory and bleeding and burning to death. Now they were standing there with their arms around one another both watching Dean as though they were two high school children just getting caught by their parents locked this tightly around each other.

Dean was now sitting himself up in bed, scratching behind his head with one hand and stretching his arm above the other. He opened his mouth widely and let out a huge yawn. "What's going on?" the older Winchester spoke between a yawn and a grumble. Sam was truly too dumbfounded to say a word, his mouth just stood open slightly, eyes still widened. What exactly was happening here? Why was he dreaming of Jessica like this? Furthermore, why was Dean in the dream too? Especially during such a private moment as this. Dean did a little head shake with a goofy half-asleep grin on his face, his eyes at half-mast. As he looked up at his brother. Jessica unwrapped her arms from around Sam and Sam, reluctant to let go, followed suit. She turned toward Dean smiling her widest smile, even as the older brother's big, green eyes flew open and his hand shot under his pillow for his gun. He grabbed it and did a spectacular dive across the bed with the gun pointed directly at Jessica, standing just mere feet away from her.

"Sam?" spoke up Dean's voice, now clearly awake and alert more than it had been just a minute or so ago. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Dean, don't!" Sam exclaimed starting to make a move toward his brother, before Jessica laid a hand on his chest and smiled.

"Dean. I truly am sorry that I didn't get to stick around long enough to get to know you better," she began voice filled with deep honesty. "I wish I could've gotten to know you and the rest of yours and Sam's family more than just a 'hello, this is my girlfriend, goodbye," she told him softly. "But I want you to know that you can put your gun away. I'm not here to hurt you or Sam."

Dean's eyebrows were furrowed skeptically across his handsome face, his gun still pointing directly at her. "How do I know you're not lying?" he questioned in that trademark, gruff voice of his. "You look like something supernatural to me what with you standing in the middle of mine and Sam's motel room all glowy looking like you stepped out of A Muppet Christmas Carol."

Jessica couldn't help but laugh, and Sam still stood staring like a child in the starlab when the realization hit him. Cas was telling the truth. Jessica must be the first spirit visiting them tonight. This really was going to be some weird, angel-induced rendition of A Christmas Carol, wasn't it? "Well, maybe something like that," the young woman laughed as she placed a hand gently on Dean's shoulder. "I've sort of been sent here to do a job for you guys tonight."

"I get it," Dean began lowering his gun now, his brow loosening but his voice sounding somewhat derisive. "Cas, you bastard." he grumbled. "So I'm assume you most be Ghost number one?"

"Umm...she's...The Ghost of Christmas Past, Dean," Sam softly corrected, but the older brother chose to ignore him. Instead he just rolled his eyes at him.

"Well, if that's what you want to call me," the blond replied, still smiling cheerfully, her voice continuing to carry laughter. "I'm just here, doing what I was told, truthfully," she explained now serious. "Me amongst others really feel how important it is that you two see something. We feel that you need to be reminded of something very crucial to both of you boys," Jessica stated, her face devoid of the smiles it just had and her voice toneless and serious. She looked back and forth between Sam and Dean, keeping one hand on Sam's chest and the other on Dean's shoulder. "I want you to come with me." The boys closed their as a bright flash of light completely engulfed them, and it felt like they were flying momentarily before harshly landing on a couple of cushioned seats. The Winchester's eyes darted around their scenery before the sound of large, heavy wheels zooming across a set of pavement sounded from beneath them. It took a moment for them to realize that they were on a bus. It smelled heavily of warm people, duffel bags, luggage and coffee. As the bus hit a speed bump the poles in between the seats rattled metallically.

"Where are we?" Dean questioned, not moving from his seat. Sam stayed seated in his own, his hands clasping the sides of the cushion. "I don't remember ever being on a bus."

"You wouldn't, Dean," Jessica told him seeming to appear out of nowhere in front of the brothers, her piercing blue eyes moved over toward the younger brother. "But you would, Sam," she stated softly. "Why don't you boys look over there?" She pointed toward a lone figure in a seat of his own, curled up and seeming to make himself as small as he could get.

"Oh...oh no," Sam whispered as Dean stood up and he followed his brother. "I remember this now. This is...," but he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. "Jess? Why'd you bring us here of all places? This? I can't..." Sam found himself turning away from his younger self, placing his hands loosely on his hips and staring out the window. They were on the same bus Sam had taken all those years ago to Palo Alto and begin his college life at Stanford. "Jess?" Sam questioned again, not looking at her, but still staring out the window. Sam dropped his head shaking it back and forth, waiting for an answer.

But the blonde didn't answer as Dean made his way forward toward the figure leaning against the window. Now that they were closer they could see it was Sam. Sam from about 10 years ago. An 18 year old Sam who'd drawn himself up as tight as he could in those seats and Dean had to wonder if this was even comfortable for his little brother and those long, giraffe legs of his when he saw the boy sniffle and wipe his face. "Sammy?" the older Winchester spoke softly sitting in the seat next to his little brother, but the young Sam didn't seem to hear him. He just leaned his head against the window, staring out at the passing scenery and every once in awhile tears would stream down his face causing 18 year old Sam to raise his sleeve and wipe them away only for more to replace them shortly after. "Dean," the young Sam's voice spoke up. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I really am so sorry. Please don't hate me, Dean. I don't want to not ever see you again. I don't hate you, Dean. I never hated you," the boy whimpered, raising his knees up to his chest and wrapping his thin arms around them.

"Awww, Sammy, man I don't hate you," Dean murmured to the young figure next to him. He reached his hand to try and place it on the younger boy's shoulder, but it went right through it. Dean lowered his head, making a fist with the hand that just tried to touch his younger brother. He stood up and leered at the blonde woman in front of him who's face was now unreadable. She just stared at Dean with those vivid, blue eyes of hers. "What was the damn point in showing me something like this, huh?" Dean questioned, his voice raised and harsh. "You actually think I wanted to _see_ something like this!"

"Come with me," she told the boys softly, placing her hands on their shoulders to once more be enveloped in the blast of bright light. They landed harshly on their feet in what looked like an apartment. Loud dance music blasted through a set of giant, black speakers hanging on the wall. People were everywhere just hanging out, leaning up against walls or furniture, holding red, plastic cups in their hands filled with some sort of drinking substance, though Dean assumed it was beer. Across the room was a pool table where a couple of guys were shooting pool, poking fun at one another and yelling playful insults. There was a lot of talk and laughter and just about everybody having a good time. In the kitchen sat a half-eaten, giant birthday cake. Around it where even more red, plastic cups upside down and stacked on top of one another. There was also a stack of paper plates and pile of plastic forks. On the counter in the small kitchen were quite a few trays with different types of food and appetizers. Sam's eyes met Dean to see him staring at the plates of food and knew if he had his way about it, he'd be in that kitchen sampling every single tray there was. All of this was familiar territory for Sam. Jessica had brought them back to Stanford. It was Jessica's birthday.

"I remember this," Sam spoke up softly as he stared around at his familiar surroundings. "This was Brady's old apartment. This was also the first birthday of yours that we had together when we started dating," the younger Winchester found himself speaking softly, almost flabbergasted. "Why are we here?" And again, Jessica didn't answer. Dean gazed about at his surroundings, and across the living room stood the younger, college version of Sam, _looking rather preppy, _Dean had thought, with Jessica at his side. Sam's hair was much shorter than it was now, though still shaggy at the top and in the back, the tips brushing at the collar of the nice, dress shirt he was wearing. His arm draped easily around her shoulders, and they seemed to be talking and laughing with another friend of theirs. Sam couldn't help but flinch at his former self and at who they were talking to. It was Brady along with another friend Dean didn't recognize.

"This was Jess's birthday?" Dean questioned, the surprise in his voice evident at the almost poshness of the place, the people and the food. "Man, Sammy. I can't figure out why you weren't in that kitchen with a plate of food! Look at all that stuff. You guys must've eaten like kings and queens living here in sunny California," the older brother cajoled, punching his younger brother lightly on the shoulder. "I know my ass would've been in here sampling that cake. Amongst the _other_ cake," Dean added with a wink. Sam just rolled his eyes while Jessica continued not to speak a word. She just stayed near the boys, her eyes flicking back and forth between them, sometimes staying on Dean for awhile and sometimes Sam. Before getting the chance to attempt to put his hand on the food, Dean was caught off-guard by a figure moving quickly past him as though trying to get away from the crowd of people. He turned his head jerkingly to see Sam politely pushing his way through people, apologizing profusely for accidentally bumping into them. _Ever the Sammy_.

Dean felt the urge to follow his wayward little brother and so he did, until he found himself standing in the middle of the hallway, with his college-aged younger brother clutching his cell phone in his hand looking nervous. Dean slowly approached this version of Sam and stood next to him, peering curiously at his phone. Sam flipped his way through the names on his contact list, coming to rest on Dean's name highlighted. His finger hovered over the send button, but then Sam just laughed mockingly at himself, shaking his head and muttering what sounded like "who am I kidding?" before clicking out of the contact list and shoving his phone back into his pocket. Pretty soon the younger version of Jessica moved right through Dean as she approached Sam in the hallway.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked softly, laying her hand on top of his.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," the younger Sam lied, a laugh accompanying and not being able to meet Jessica's eyes.

"Are you feeling sick?" she asked him tenderly, reaching up to brush a small strand of hair from his eyes. "I can take you back to my place and take care of you if you are."

The Sam of now chose to ignore the suggestive snort that came from his older brother.

"Nah, I'm fine. I think I'm just getting a little warm and tired. Probably just need some sleep," he answered softly, giving his best, fake Sam Winchester smile.

"If you're ready to go, Sam. We can. I'm starting to feel pretty tired myself. Just let me go tell Brady that we're heading out. I need to thank him for helping throw this party for me, and I'll just let him know you stepped out already, and that you're just really tired because you were up all night last night studying. How does that sound?" the blonde told him gently, her voice filled with understanding.

"What would I do without you?" Sam asked her softly, leaning down toward her face.

Jess just giggled. "Crash and burn," she spoke softly, before pulling him in for a deep kiss.

"Woohoo! Sammy!" Dean cheered as he watched the past version of his brother in a liplock with his girlfriend. Sam just reached over and slapped his arm, giving him an expression that said _would you __**shut up**__ already?_ Dean ignored his younger brother, snickering as Jessica and Sam broke their kiss and she disappeared from the hallway. Within what seemed like mere moments, Jessica was back and tugging on her jacket. She handed Sam his, and the couple were slipping out of the apartment door and onto the sidewalk. Both of the brothers felt strongly compelled to follow the twosome as they left Brady's apartment and the party behind.

~TBC~

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Chapter 3 Preview: _Dean grabbed the duffel bag sitting next to his bed and brought it up beside him. He unzipped it and dipped his hand inside of it digging through clothes and such to pull up a makeshift book with a tattered, blue covering. Sam never recalled seeing anything like that before in Dean's possession, and so he sat down on the bed next to the younger version of his brother, watching, waiting, looking to see what was inside of it. The Dean of now was leaning back against the motel wall with his head turned away, hardly being able to bear watching this, just as Sam had with his own scene. The younger Dean opened the book now in his lap to the first page and Sam had to hold back a gasp. It was a picture of him and Dean together when he was just a little baby. It looked like it had been taken in some motel room, but sure as rain it was a 4 year old Dean holding a bright, blue-eyed baby Sammy in his arms. Dean flipped to the next page and chuckled softly._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Ghost of Christmas Past- Pt 2**

It was nighttime out now, the stars twinkling brightly in the massive, California sky. The air had been fairly warm for a January in California. Sam had forgotten how warm California had typically stayed in the winter, surprisingly compared to the many other places he and Dean had lived in the winter time. Usually it just rained and got chilly every once in awhile, but tonight it was a comfortable night. The tall street lamps surrounding campus lit up the bits of ground that sat underneath them like a spotlight. Sam and Jessica walked across the campus grounds, holding hands with Sam's other hand in his pocket and staring at his feet, before the college version of Jessica spoke up.

"Alright, Sam. I know you've been hiding something from me all night. Now that we're out of there, why don't you tell me what's bothering you?" the girl inquired looking up at the young Sam.

"Nothing's bothering me, Jess. I'm_ fine_," he responded to the girl, giving her the best believable tone he could muster, but even Dean could hear the false resonance.

"Sam. No, you're not. I saw that you kept disappearing tonight, and every single time you did, you were in the hallway holding your phone." She grasped both of his hands into her own to pull him gently down onto a bench with her. They seated themselves facing each other, their hands never unclasping from one another's. "Sam, we've been dating long enough for me to know when something is bothering you or something is wrong. Please, Sam. You've been there for me when I needed it. Now, talk to me. Tell me what's going on," she urged gently, her blonde head slightly tilting, her gaze unwavering. Sam could remember this, and it had been one of the hardest and perhaps one of the easiest things he'd ever talked about. Dean just stood completely alert, his eyes unmoving from his brother and Jessica seated on the bench under one of those school street lamps as if the two were almost in a spotlight of their own.

"Does it have to do with your family?" Jessica chanced and Sam's head shot up from staring down into his lap. His blue-green eyes widened before narrowing slightly at the girl in front of him.

"No-that...this...I...no, Jess. I _don't_ want to talk about this," the young college boy stammered and he turned his head away from Jessica, his eyes looking anywhere but into hers.

"Look, Sam. I know that you've told me bits and pieces here and there, but if there is something more going on when it comes to your family, let me help. Let me lift some of that off of your shoulders. You don't have to be alone in this, Sam," she insisted, squeezing her hands tighter around his. "Let me help you. Please."

"It's my brother's birthday," Sam finally murmured after a moment of silence.

"Today is?"

"Yeah...January 24th is Dean's birthday too. Just like yours," Sam replied in a soft, toneless voice.

"Is that who you were trying to call when you kept sneaking off back at Brady's?" the blonde asked.

"Yeah-I-maybe...I just... I wanted to tell him happy birthday, but I didn't want to make him angry," Sam responded, raising his head now and keeping it turned away from Jessica, but she didn't mistake his eyes squinting the way they usually did when he was upset as he stared upward into the night sky. She didn't pry, but Sam finally lowered his head, staring at their hands still clutched to one another's before letting out a soft sigh. "I didn't exactly leave on the best of terms. I've wanted to call my brother and talk to him, tell him how sorry I am, and that I miss him. You see, Dean took care of me all of my life. I mean he practically raised me, Jess. He was there for me through everything. My first day of school, my first soccer game, my first girlfriend, my first breakup, my graduation. Without him now...it's just..I just...it's his birthday and we always used to do something special together...on his birthday, you know? Because my dad was never around, and I just wanted to call him and tell him that-," Sam's voice broke and his breath hitched.

Jessica squeezed Sam's hands, if possible, even tighter. He looked up now at Jessica and Dean could see the tears glistening in his baby brother's hazel eyes making them look almost green. The older Winchester could feel his heart clench in his chest. "I-I just wanted to tell Dean how sorry I am, Jess," he began speaking, saying her name as though she herself were Dean, and he were trying to make her understand taking a breath to control himself, Sam continued. "And that he truly does still mean the world to me like he did when I was just 6 and 10 and 14 years old, you know? That he really is my big brother, and that'll never change and-and that I-I...I still lo-," but Sam didn't seem to finish his sentence as the break in his heart was evident now in his voice. His breath hitched once, twice, before it became a full-blown sob and then Jessica took Sam into her arms where he proceeded to lean over, accepting the girl's comfort, before his face found itself burying it's way into her shoulder. She wrapped him tight in her arms, holding him as close as she possibly could while he cried, the only sound being heard was Sam's soft sobs drifting through the night.

The Sam of now turned away, not able to watch the scene playing out before him anymore, while next to him Dean scoffed. Sam found himself walking away from a frustrated Dean and a completely calm and impassive Jessica. Sam didn't want to see or hear any of this anymore. Couldn't they just go home? What was all of this supposed to mean anyway?

"Is this supposed to mean something?" Dean began, seemingly reading his little brother's mind and asking Sam's question for him. "I mean sitting here and watching my little brother in a state like this, and I can't do a _damn_ thing about it?" Dean questioned. "You mind telling me just what the _hell _you're trying to tell me here, Jessica? That my little brother was suffering and it was _my_ fault?"

"No, Dean. No. That's just it. It _wasn't_ your fault," she insisted softly, placing a hand on his arm gently. "It was never your fault, Dean. Not in Sam's eyes and not in mine either. So don't blame yourself. Sam never did. This wasn't to show you that your brother was suffering because of you, because he wasn't." Jessica sighed as her hand clasped his arm to turn him back and face the couple on the bench once more. "Look at this, Dean," she told him gently as he watched Sam laying in the younger Jessica's arms, his face buried into her hair and shoulders jerking up and down every now and again from sobbing. He watched the blonde shooshing him and running thin fingers through Sam's shaggy hair, her own head resting against his. She was speaking soft, inaudible words to him that seemed to calm him down.

"I know you've had doubts, Dean about what Sam really felt for you. I know you have doubts even now too. Don't you see? Don't you see how much he loved you back then? How much he cared for you and he missed you? Sam has never once stopped loving you, even now he still looks at his older brother the same way. He has always thought of you as his big brother, and that never changed, Dean. It hasn't now either, and this is what I'm trying to show you. Sam loves you. He loved you as a child, he loved you back then, and he still loves you now. Here. Follow me."

The scene swiftly changed to another still tall, thin and lanky almost preppy image of Sammy sitting on one of the many benches surrounding the college not much unlike the one he and Jessica had been sitting on previously, only this time it was daylight out. Sam was clutching his phone in his hand, and the name highlighted on the screen was Dean. Her hand rested delicately on Dean's shoulder. "What does this tell you?" she questioned him gently, and Dean just stared at her with an expression that said if only he had known. Jessica just smiled knowingly and nodded her head in understanding. "Exactly, Dean. And it has never changed. Sam might be a man now, but you're still his big brother, and he still looks up to you. He still _loves_ you. Don't ever doubt that."

Dean had been rendered speechless. Maybe this was what he needed. Maybe he _needed_ to be shown these images of his brother and be reminded by somebody else other than just his brother that Sam still felt the same way, that his love and care for Dean had never left. It had just lie dormant for the time he roamed the earth soulless. Dean placed a hand on his chest, absent of where the amulet once hung and wishing he could feel the gentle weight of it against his chest once more. Jess smiled and squeezed Dean's arm gently, and he couldn't help but feel a renewed tenderness, warmth and undying love for his little brother fill his heart at her touch. Though Dean Winchester would never speak these things right out loud, it was amazing to feel them once again. Sammy really did love him just like a little brother would a big brother. He looked over toward his little brother of now who was digging the toe of his boot into the ground, hands shoved into his jean pockets and staring downward, the patented Sam Winchester way, and Dean couldn't help the grin that broke across his face. Jessica's glowing form made her way toward Sam and she cupped his face tenderly, turning it so she could look into Sam's eyes. "It's your turn."

And once again, the brothers found themselves being engulfed by the brilliant, white light, lifted off their feet and carried to wherever else Jessica was going to take them. They found themselves landing roughly on their feet once more, but this time the air wasn't warm and clear. In fact, it was chilly and somewhat dark, except for one, dim lamp sitting on a night stand that sat in the middle of a room, pressed up against a wall that had seen better days and between two beds. The whole room was looking a little worse for wear and smelled slightly dewy. The bedspreads on the beds were old and faded. The framing of the beds were tinged with rust. There was a rickety, wooden table with two chairs on either end across from the beds and it was also pushed up against the other wall near the door. The carpet was dingy and stained, with only God knows what, underneath their feet. It quickly came to Sam's acknowledgement that they were in a motel room. Definitely a room that Sam himself didn't recognize, and standing in front of him were a younger version of Dean and their father, John Winchester. He groped through the air for Dean's sleeve, not able to take his eyes off of John, and grabbed a hold of it, barely able to believe his eyes when the yelling started. "D-Dean," Sam stuttered, but could speak no more as he studied the scene playing out before him.

"Oh man...I remember this," Dean stated as he stared at the room, not paying any mind that his little brother's giant paw was clutching his shirt sleeve. In fact, Dean welcomed it. "This was after you'd left, Sammy. I was trying so hard to-," Dean's voice cut off as his shook his head, running a large hand through his hair and a harsh chuckle escaped his lips.

"Man, this might've been one of the _only_ times I ever...," his voice trailed off and the older Winchester found he couldn't even speak anymore. Instead he just stuck by Sam's side, feeling his brother's fingers loosen from around his sleeve and eventually let go.

"Dad, please," pleaded the younger version of Dean. "We need the extra help."

"I told you that we're not calling him. Now you might as well forget about it and drop the subject," John drawled back, sounding a bit irritated with his oldest son. He seated himself at the table, setting a shotgun on the tabletop and filling it with rock salt rounds.

"No, Dad. This is probably one of the biggest hunts we've ever taken on in our lives, and it's not like you can just call Bobby up to help us now since he said if you ever showed up on his lawn again he'd kill you. We _need _Sam's help on this one, Dad. Just please let me call him. I'm sure that if Sam knows just how badly we need his help, he'll come. I know he will, Dad," his expression clearly reading _I have the faith in Sammy that you don't._

John slammed his gun down on the table, causing Dean to jump slightly. "I said NO, Dean. The answer is NO. Did you forget that your brother _left _us for a new and better life? He doesn't care about us. He doesn't care about hunting. He doesn't care about saving people's lives, and sure as hell don't care about _you,_ or if you want him here or not. All he cares about is _himself_," his voice raising, Dean didn't make the emphasis his father had placed on the word 'himself'. "That's why he ran off in the first place and left us all alone. He left his _family_, Dean. Do you think if Sam actually _cared_ about you and me he might bother to call once in awhile? The answer is no, Dean. You drop the subject right now, and that's an order," the older Winchester admonished his son before grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair, throwing it on, snatching the gun and storming out of the motel room, slamming the door behind him and leaving the old, faded paintings on the wall shaking dangerously in his wake.

Sam tried not to show the hurt in his expression at John's reaction of Dean wanting to call the boy for help, but it was evident in his face, and Jessica put a hand on his arm and squeezed it comfortingly. "It's okay, Sam. Just keep watching."

"DAMMIT!" Dean exploded, snatching a book off of his father's bed and throwing it across the room. It had been the closest thing within his vicinity. Breathing heavily, Dean pulled out his phone from his jeans pocket, flipped it open and went straight to his contact list. He scrolled through his contacts before the contact highlighter came to rest on Sam's name. Dean held the phone, bouncing his wrist as though trying to make a decision before flipping it shut, his jaw working furiously and then Sam watched as the younger Dean chucked his cell phone across the room too. "SON OF A BITCH!" Dean screamed, his voice sounding just as broken as his phone was about to be. The phone landed against the wall breaking in to two pieces from the impact. He went over to the broken-down, splintered, oak dresser and planted his hands firmly on top of it, staring at his reflection into the smeared, spotted mirror that hadn't seen Windex in probably months. Sighing, Dean dropped his head and stood up straight, turning around with a fist clutched at his chest. Sam could see that Dean was holding onto the amulet that he'd given him all those years ago for Christmas when they were just children. Dean's fingers loosened from around it as he seated himself on the bed with a heavy _plop. _The amulet swung and fell back against his chest.

The younger Winchester didn't miss the few angry tears that managed to escape and slide their way down Dean's face. He scoffted at himself before raising a hand to scrub at his face. Leaning over, Dean grabbed the duffel bag laying on the floor next to his bed and brought it up beside him. He unzipped it and dipped his hand inside of it, digging deep through clothes and whatever else was in there, to pull up a makeshift book with a tattered, blue covering. Sam never recalled seeing anything like that before in Dean's possession, and so he sat down on the bed next to the younger version of his big brother, watching, waiting, looking to see what was inside of it. The Dean of now was leaning back against the motel wall, arms folded over his chest, with his head turned away, hardly being able to bear watching this, just as Sam had with his own scene. The younger Dean opened the book now in his lap to the first page, and Sam had to hold back a gasp. It was a picture of him and Dean together when he was just a little baby. It looked like it had been taken in some motel room, but sure as rain it was a 4 year old Dean holding a bright, blue-eyed baby Sammy in his arms. Dean flipped to the next page and chuckled softly.

There was a tiny toddler Sam, maybe a little over a year old. It looked like they were in Bobby's house and the little tyke was holding onto one of Bobby's end tables near the couch. Sam's head was full of dark, curly hair and his little chin was held up high. He was wearing nothing but a diaper, and his chubby legs were spread apart on stubby feet, his tiny fingers clutching firmly to the wood. His little lips were pursed together, all puckered up as if to say "na-na-na-na-na, I told you I could do it!" Underneath the picture were the words written in Dean's handwriting _"The first time Sammy learned to walk" _and Sam felt his heart leap up into his throat.

Dean flipped the page yet again to find a picture of a Sam about 4 years older than the one on the previous page. He was standing outside just up against the Impala. He carried a Spiderman backpack over his shoulders, and he looked terrified. Underneath the picture read _"Sammy's first day of Kindergarten."_ The next picture showed an even older version of Sam dressed fully in a soccer uniform. Underneath that picture read _"Sammy's first soccer tournament."_ And Sam remembered that day thoroughly because he'd kicked the winning goal and won his team the tournament. He remembered that his dad kept his soccer trophy in his lockup. Sam couldn't help but smile slightly. Dean had kept a small book of pictures of some Sam's biggest accomplishments in life.

Dean flipped the page once more, and there was Sam all decked out in his cap and gown; his high school graduation. He remembered that day and remembered how proud Dean had been of his little brother. Sam remembered feeling so jovial, so accomplished and so excited that his big brother had been there for him. There had been nothing like it for Sam, truthfully. John may not have been there, but Dean was. That was all that mattered to Sam in the world. Dean finally flipped to the last page of the little book he'd seemed to have made and put together himself. The last picture showed the two brothers standing together in front of the Impala, both clutching their own sawed off shotguns in their hands, both smiling. Underneath the picture were the words _"Sam Winchester-18 and Dean Winchester-22. First brother hunt."_ That was the second to last hunt Sam had ever went on, but it was also the first and only with just him and Dean before Sam had left for Stanford. It was also the last picture Sam had ever taken with his big brother. Dean began speaking before Sam even had the time to continue thinking, but there was no mistaken the heaviness that settled over Sam's heart.

"Ah, Sammy...I wish I had the balls to call you. I keep trying to, but then I never know if you're going to answer the phone or not," Dean kinda chuckled to himself as he continued to stare at the two of them in the picture. He ran a finger down it before slamming the book shut and hiding it away once more in his duffel. "I miss you, man. Sometimes it's hard with it being just me and Dad now, you know? I'm busting my ass here all the time man, and it's so hard to do this without your support like I used to have. Sometimes I wonder how the hell I get through this without you, Sammy," Dean admitted to nobody but himself. "Sometimes I wish that...I could've been as brave as you and just rebelled right along with you. Ya know, done whatever I wanted, but I'm just not as strong-willed as you are when it comes to Dad, I think," Dean continued softly, leaning back on his bed and onto his pillow. He brought his arms up and folded them behind his head, staring up at the water-stained ceiling.

"I wish you could come back sometimes, just so you could teach me how to be that strong around Dad; how to rebel so we could both live our own lives, you know? I wish I could tell you just how proud of you I really am though, Sammy. For graduating high school and getting yourself into such a highly ranked college like Stanford. I just wish I could see you now. I wish I knew what you were doing now, Sammy," Dean's voice trembled as he laid an arm across his eyes as though trying to block out the light. He laughed again.

"Hey, maybe you found yourself a girl. A really pretty one. And some friends too. College wouldn't be right without friends and girls!" Dean huffed a sigh, still keeping his arm rested over his face. "I just hope you're happy and safe, Sammy. I really do." Sam didn't miss the two tears that escaped from underneath Dean's arm, and he could feel a powerful emotion building up in his own chest causing Sam to fight against his own tears. Sam reached a hand out to try and touch his older brother, but of course it was in vain. His hand went right through him. With a sigh he stood up from the bed and away from Dean, stepping back. The Dean from now was now staring down at the sleeve of his shirt, a hem coming loose on his shirt sleeve, and he picked at it like it was the most fascinating thing in the whole room.

"Sam?" Jessica spoke softly as the younger brother was now discreetly trying to wipe at his eyes. He had never known any of this about Dean, and he felt horrible. Terrible that his older brother had to go through this on his behalf. Awful that he truly had felt this all his life, and after everything he still couldn't have normal like he'd wanted, like he'd deserved. "Do you understand?" she inquired gently.

"Yeah...I left. I left my big brother all alone in this mess with Dad. It's all my fault that he never got try and go and do something for himself. Because of me, Dean had to put up with Dad and had to deal with the hunting and follow Dad's orders all by himself. Because of me, Dean never got to go out and try and achieve his own dreams and his own aspirations and ambitions. No. I was just too damn selfish and left him behind. God, I'm sorry, Dean. I am so sorry," Sam began making his way toward his older brother, but was stopped by Jessica appearing in front of him.

"No, Sam. Your brother was proud of you. He was so happy for you, and he loves you unconditionally even back then. Sam. It's just like I told Dean. It has never changed. Never! Not once, so please. Please don't look at this as though you caused Dean pain because while you two may have gone through some very hard times, no matter how far apart you were from one another physically, you were always thinking about each other, and that's what should matter. Not making each other suffer." Jessica pulled Sam near Dean and she held on to both of their arms, an earnest look in her sparkling, blue eyes as she tugged the brothers to stand in front of her.

"Please, listen to me, both of you. You still loved each other then, and you two were still a family no matter what; no matter how near or how far you were always thinking of each other's well being, if you were alright, getting enough sleep, getting enough to eat, happy or sad or lonely or injured. Those thoughts were always going through your minds for each other. You were brothers. Nothing ever changed that. Even now. You two are _still _brothers, and you both love each other. As Dean once said, you're each other's achillies heel. Staying together, hunting together, fighting together, saving people together, and getting rid of evil together. That's what makes you stronger as a team and as brothers. Even when it's just the small things like riding around in the car together, cracking jokes with one another or sitting on top of the Impala's hood having a beer together, or just parking it and watching the stars, you both are still brothers and nothing will ever _ever _change that. Please, boys. _Please_ remember that," Jessica pleaded. She stared into the bright green of Dean's eyes and squeezed his arm before turning to Sam and giving him the same expression. She brought her hand up to Sam's face to cup his cheek and then run her fingers past his ear and into his hair to tuck his hair behind his ear. "Remember that," the glowing girl reiterated and the boys once again found themselves behind swallowed by the vivid, bright white light.

The same flying sensation lifted Sam and Dean off their feet and on another tour, filling their heads of wondering where she would next bring them. Once again, the Winchesters landed roughly on their feet, nearly losing their balance this time and grabbing each other for balance. The boys both stood up straight, dusting their shirts and pants off, regathering themselves as they realized they were back in their motel room and Jessica's spirit had gone. The two stared at each other with a confused expression, their eyebrows raised before furrowing.

"We're like cats," Dean joked. "We keep landing on our feet."

"Did...was...," Sam began but he couldn't exactly find the right words. He shook his head and scratched the side of it with one finger. "Did you...?"

"Yeah, I did...," Dean responded, running a hand over his whiskery face. "I mean...did you?"

"Yeah...so...that was real right? That wasn't a dream? I mean, we both saw it, right? We both experienced all of that, right?" Sam inquired like a small, confused child asking questions.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm pretty sure we did," Dean responded as he seated himself slowly on his bed. "That was just...that was insane. What a freakin' rush, man. I feel like somebody just pulled me off of a ride at Six Flags."

"Yeah," Sam replied, a small chuckle in his voice. "So uh...," he began, not really sure what to say, honestly.

"Yeah, yeah...ummm. So I wonder if we're really being taken through a Christmas Carol starring you and me and written by 'the angels'?" Dean teased. When Sam didn't respond right away, he continued. "I wonder who the next spirit's going to be, though? Wasn't the second ghost a fat, jolly dude with some kind of wreath on his head?" The older Winchester questioned out loud, rubbing a hand on the back of his head, trying to change the subject.

Both Winchesters had to admit that they were a little embarrassed over what each brother saw of one another, but they could not deny the feeling of this newfound warmth slowly beginning to fill the cracks in their hearts.

Sam chuckled at Dean's comment. "I have no idea. So, I suppose we could just go to sleep then? Wait for the next blastwave?" the younger Winchester questioned. After their big trips to the past, Sam and Dean both couldn't help but feel a little tired, and so Dean voiced his agreement and the two lay back on their beds, wondering when the next one would show up and who it would be. Soon, the boys found themselves falling back into their pillows, surpisingly taken over by a deep slumber but minds filled with questions on what could happen next.

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_(no preview for 4 yet guys, sorry! Haven't had the chance to write one, but once I do, I'll edit it in and add it before I write the entire 4th chapter!)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Ghost of Christmas Present**

Dean rolled over in his bed and looked at the clock. It was only 9pm. Really? That early in the night seriously? What the hell? Did he and Sam fall asleep at like 7pm or something? Groaning, Dean sat up in bed knuckling gathered sleep from the corners of his eyes and stared over at his younger brother, snoozing soundlessly in his bed across from him. Though the older Winchester didn't know why he'd woken up, he still felt unsteady, as though there were something in the room with them, but it didn't give off that peculiar feeling he and Sam usually got whenever there was a ghost or anything dangerous or supernatural around them.

Truthfully he had no idea what this feeling even was it was so faint. Blinking his eyes a few times, Dean held the bridge of his nose between those brilliant green orbs willing himself to wake up a bit more. Normally his first instinct would've been to grab the gun that was somehow back under his pillow again. Wait...hadn't that been in his hand? Or maybe it wasn't? Maybe Jessica put it back under the pillow before she'd nearly blinded them to death on every little journey she took them on. None of this was even making any sense anymore. Feeling more alive than he had a few moments ago, Dean acknowledged that whatever was in the room, that..._feeling_ still hadn't left. Standing up, Dean made his way over to his younger brother and gently shook his shoulder, urging Sam awake.

"Sammy," Dean rasped at the younger Winchester. He nudged him again. "Hey, Sam! Wake up!"

"Hmmm, what?" Sam moaned sleepily, hazel eyes opening at half-mast to stare up at his older brother who was looking perturbed. "Dean? What's wrong?"

"I dunno man. Something just...something doesn't feel right in here," Dean responded, his hunter's instincts fully kicked in, and he was staring around the room, squinting, eyes searching the area.

Sam raised a hand, rubbing at his hazel orbs with his fingertips and using the other hand to boost himself up in the bed with a grunt. "What d'you think it is?" Sam questioned, voice still thick with sleep. "Does it feel threatening?" He ended with a yawn.

"No...no, it's just...man. It feels almost..._familiar_," Dean responded before turning to look down at his little brother and he lifted an eyebrow at the kid. "Dude, seriously. We need to think about buying you a comb or something to keep in your pocket. Your bedhead looks worse than the things we hunt."

"Ha-ha, you're hilarious," Sam shot scornfully, back raising his hands to comb his large fingers through his hair and smooth it down. More awake now the younger Winchester rose to his feet as well to stand by his brother. "I see what you mean, though," he added, brow furrowing in concentration, eyes scanning the room.

"Yeah...it's just. I think..," Dean paused as he turned his head to look toward the bathroom door.

Sam walked around Dean's bed, suggesting he were searching for something in the room, but neither of the boys were coming up with anything until the young hunter inclined his head back toward the window and emitted a soft gasp. "Hey, uh...Dean?" Sam stated softly, pointing toward the window that was just next to his bed. There at the window stood a tall silhouette. Not quite as tall as Sam, but tall enough. Dean's mouth dropped open as he walked toward his brother and met his side. The figure that stood in front of the window stepped into some moonlight that had shown it's way through the window and both boys grasped onto each other's sleeves of their shirts to keep themselves standing upright.

"D-dad?" Dean stammered in a raspy voice while Sam just stood shell-shocked and flabbergasted, unable to speak. Both his and Dean's eyes widened to match astonishment of seeing their father standing against the window of their motel room.

John Winchester, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, made a move to walk around the bed and to his sons, his trademark smile on his handsome face. His eyes crinkled in at the outer corners, his usual slathering of facial hair sprinkled across his face, his cheeks red and warm-looking almost, as if he'd been out in the blustery winter. He had the expression on his face and his eyes that said of how happy and how proud of his sons he was. Dean slowly began walking toward his father while Sam stayed back, as if rooted to the spot and not able to move.

"Dad?" the older brother spoke again, voice shaking.

John just smiled a bit wider at his oldest son before his eyes slid over to rest on his youngest. Sam couldn't even return the smile, his mouth opened just enough to suggest the slight dropping of his jaw, his brow slowly pulling itself upward. "Hey, boys," the oldest Winchester responded, his dark eyes flicking back and forth in between his sons.

Dean could feel his eyes burning with relentless tears before he found the big, warm arms of his father wrapping around his shoulders, and he couldn't resist burying his face into his father's jacket. It even felt the same, the touch, the same scent of leather and gunpowder, everything. His father's entire body was warm, thick and real. He didn't fall through him as if he were hugging a spirit, and for the first time since Cas had told him that three spirits would be visiting them tonight, Dean didn't feel the angel was off his rocker. His arms followed suit, raising themselves to wrap themselves tightly around his father's waist as if he were a young child again.

"Dad," Dean's voice broke, speaking to John once more. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry. I made so many mistakes. I made so many bad choices. I know if you would've been alive maybe it would've been easier, but I am so sorry, Dad. I know you would've been so disappoi-," but Dean's voice was cut off as John spoke up.

"No, Dean. No. Now that's enough now," his familiar tones drawled through the older Winchester boy's ear and Dean felt like he could just dissolve right there in his father's arms. "You've got nothing to be sorry for," his voice soft and filled with understanding as a giant hand came up to rest roughly on his son's back for a brief moment. John pulled away from Dean and held his son by the shoulders to stare into his tear-filled, green eyes. "Absolutely nothing," he smiled reassuringly to his oldest before releasing his boy and turning toward the younger one. Dean pulled gently away and stepped back to get a grip on himself. He blinked back tears as he watched his father move toward Sam who was looking more and more guilty by the moment and more like he would crumble at his feet if John didn't grab him soon.

"Sammy," John spoke just as tenderly as he'd done with Dean, moving toward his boy and reaching one hand out to grasp Sam's shoulder.

"Dad," Sam's voice trembled and before he could break into a pile of inconsolable Sam, he lunged gently for his father, and John equally moved forward, taking the trembling boy into his arms, holding him tight. Sam's arms went tight around his father just as Dean's had, and his face went straight for John's shoulder as tremors took over the younger Winchester's entire frame. "I'm so sorry, Dad," the youngest reiterated his older brother. "For _everything_," he found himself apologizing for a second time tonight. "I did so many bad things. I let you down. I hurt Dean, I hurt Mom, I hurt Jess, I hurt the world," the guilt so evident in his voice that it made Dean tremble. "I hurt so many people. I hurt Bobby. I shouldn't-I can't-I don't-you shouldn't-," Sam's stammering voice broke as John quieted his younger son by lifting a hand to rest easily on the back of his head and he held him tight. "It's not your fault, son. You didnt know. You couldn't help it. It was never asked of you to just leave your soul behind. Don't blame yourself."

"B-but I messed up, Dad," Sam insisted, his voice muffled from his father's jacket. "Shouldn't...shouldn't I...shouldn't you-," but once more John cut his son off.

"That's enough now, Sam. Enough now. No more of this," the hunter insisted. "All that matters now is that you're back to normal and you're safe and you're alive."

Dean cleared his throat, rubbing a hand down his mouth and chin, as Sam lifted his face, which was now wet, and John just smiled at him, not seeming to mind the dampness that had appeared on his shoulder. Sam shuffled away from his father, keeping his head lowered and scrubbing his face with one hand, trying not to look at either one of his family members. He gave a soft sniff. Dean had raised a hand to clap comfortingly on his kid brother's shoulder and gave it a tentative squeeze, the big brother comforting instinct kicked in.

"So, Dad, what brings you by?" Dean asked, trying to turn the conversation more lighthearted.

"What, your angel didn't come and visit you? Didn't tell you I'd be stopping by tonight?" John responded jokingly with a chuckle behind his words.

At that, Sam lifted his head a fraction more and raised red-rimmed eyes at his father. "You know about Cas?" he inquired, voice still sounding strained.

"Well yeah. I think anybody who knows you boys upstairs knows about Cas," John replied with a nod. "So, he didn't tell you?"

"Nah, he pulled off this big Christmas Carol thing or whatever," Dean responded with an eyeroll. "The whole three spirits visiting, blah blah blah. We just...had no idea it'd be you," the older Winchester added on. "So, Cas knows who's going to be coming to see us? Man that son of a bitch. I'd like to ask him what the hell his problem is not telling us who it'd be. I'll bet you anything he damn well knows who's gonna visit us next too," Dean snarled, looking over at his brother, hoping for a reaction, but poor Sam looked as if he were trying to make himself as small as he possibly could get while standing. The guilt and the shame were so evident in his eyes that it nearly broke Dean's heart. It'd been awhile since he'd seen his brother like that, but he chose to blow it off. Sam would have to feel his guilt later. They had other things to concern themselves with at the moment. Like where John was going to be taking them.

"So, you're here to show us what's going on now in the present, right Dad?" Sam asked, finally looking up at his father, his voice canceling out the silence in the room.

"That's right, Sammy. I'm here to show you boys that while you have made mistakes in your life, you need to understand something. You need to know that neither of you owe anybody any apologies. You've more than redeemed yourselves for anything that's happened and then some." John moved forward and rested a large hand on one shoulder of each of his boys. "You both are only human. Human beings make mistakes, make wrong decisions, but we only grow and learn from those. I want you boys to stop hanging onto those past mistakes and learn to forgive yourselves. Move on." Both of the brothers shot their father with looks that said they didn't deserve to be forgiven for anything, and before either could say a word, John was shaking his head. "I'm going to take you and show you why you shouldn't feel the way that you do. Why you two should feel good about yourselves."

John's hands squeezed his boys' shoulders, and still holding onto Dean's, John removed a hand from Sam's, raised it and snapped his fingers. They were flashing out of the motel room faster than they could say 'what.' One moment, they were in the room, and the next they found themselves inside of a brightly-lit kitchen that they did not recognize. This trip had been significantly different from the one Jessica had taken them on. With her they'd been engulfed in a brilliant, white, and warm light. With John, he just snapped his fingers and it was like an instant teleport. No sensations of flying or soaring and no harsh landing. Sam couldn't help but wonder if that had just been Jessica's humor and trademark playfulness flitting through, when his eyes caught the sight of where they were. Sam tilted his head slightly, eyes blinking and narrowing in curiosity.

There was a little girl with curly, dark brown hair down her back. She had a bright red ribbon in her hair and was still wearing her red and white Christmas dress. She was squealing happily at the kitchen table, clapping her tiny hands. She looked to be no older than maybe 5 or 6 years old. Her mother had one of the many kitchen cabinets opened, and she was pulling out a plate decorated around the edges with images of holly and in the middle of it a giant, rosy-cheeked, smiling face of Father Christmas himself. In the center of the kitchen table sat a massive plate of decorated, Christmas sugar cookies. Some had either red or green frosting smoothed over them and some decorated with Christmas colored sprinkles or both. Dean found his mouth watering at the sight and wished he could put a hand out and snatch one. The boys realized that they weren't being seen as they stood in the kitchen with their father while the mother flitted around and the girl chattered happily.

"Okay, Mommy! How many cookies do you think we should leave Santa?" she asked eagerly, staring down at the plate.

"Well, sweetie, I think Santa is going to be _very _hungry when he gets here, so how about we leave him one of each? Santa works hard flying around the world all night long to deliver all those presents to all the kids, remember?" Her mother replied, running a hand through her daughter's long curls.

"Yes, of course Mommy!" the little girl just replied readily as her mother set the plate down on the table. "Okay! One of each!" She gently gathered a red icing-covered cookie, a green icing one, one with sprinkles and one with both and laid them out as she saw fit for Santa on the plate. "Four cookies. That's a lot of cookies!"

Her mother just laughed. "Well, you know how big Santa Clause is! It's because he eats all those cookies every year!" She helped her daughter off the chair while the little girl carefully held the plate in her hands. "Your daddy is waiting in the living room. He'll show you were to leave the cookies so Santa won't miss. Then we'll be up to help you get ready for bed and tuck you in, okay?"

"Okay!" the young one replied enthusiastically. "Don't forget the glass of milk, Mommy!" She called over her shoulder as she slowly and carefully made her way into the living room, holding the plate as if it were the most fragile thing in the world, and she could not drop it no matter what.

"Of course!" the mother responded, a gentle and playful hand slapped against her forehead in mock surprise. "How could I forget! Coming right up, Rosey!"

"Rosey...," Sam said softly to himself as he and Dean watched the mother walking to the fridge and pouring a giant glass of milk. She began walking out of the kitchen and John beckoned his sons to follow. "Dad? Is all of this happening _right now_?" Sam questioned as the brothers followed John.

"Yes, Sam. It is. This is literally the present. We're in real time here. They just can't see, hear or feel us," he explained to his sons. Dean just stared on, his green eyes widened. He and Sam exchanged glances as though they'd seen these people before, but remained quiet.

They found themselves in the living room of this family's home; a gentle fire was crackling in the fireplace and a brilliantly large, lit up, twinkling Christmas tree stood near it. Tinsel hung just right from the top of the fireplace mantle. Decorated across the top of the mantle where handmade, Christmas mantle pieces. On the other side of it was a small table where the plate of cookies sat. Rosey was sitting up on her father's lap, who was seated in a rocking chair nearby, and was holding a red crayon in her hand while her father was helping her write a note.

"You write this to Santa and you leave it under his glass of milk and he'll see that those are for him and how thoughtful you were being by leaving him a letter," her dad explained as he held his hand over hers to help her write. "And when you wake up in the morning, your stocking will be filled," he pointed to a red stocking cheerfully decorated with images of Santa Clause, the reindeer, his sleigh and more holly that hung along with the tinsel on the mantle. "And presents will be stacked under the tree!" he told her eagerly, giving her small shoulders a loving squeeze.

"All done, Daddy!" she told him excitedly as she hopped off of her father's lap and scurried over to the table where the plate of cookies and now glass of milk sat as the mother folded her arms and smiled at her family. Rosey carefully slid the letter under the glass of milk.

"Alright now, Rosey, you go on up and get ready for bed," her mother told her, playfully swatting her daughter on her behind. "Daddy and I will be up to tuck you in and read you T'was the Night Before Christmas before you go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy!" Rosey responded happily, clapping her hands and singing some made-up song about Santa Clause coming to visit her house tonight as she made her way up the stairs. The father stood up from his chair and made his way over to the mother and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He looked down at her smiling warmly.

"She sure is excited," he couldn't help but laugh, and soon his wife's laughter chimed in along with his.

"Well, it's Christmas Eve. Little kids all over are excited right now," she pointed out before her eyes met her husband's. "I love you, Charlie," she whispered softly.

"I love you too, Monica. Merry Christmas," he told her gently, before the couple's lips touched in a chaste, gentle kiss.

"Now, let's go make sure Rosey is getting out of that dress okay and into her PJs," she told him with another laugh and the two left the living room to begin making their way up the stairs and to their daughter.

"Monica!" Sam exclaimed softly turning toward his father with wide, hazel eyes. "Dad this isn't-,"

"The same Monica, Charlie and Rosey that you boys saved from the yellow-eyed demon that night I was captured?" John finished for Sam.

"Holy sh- you mean...that's the same family we saved from him?" Dean asked in astonishment. "I never would've noticed. I mean I thought they seemed familiar or something."

"Well, Dean, it's not like you can remember what you even ate yesterday," Sam added on with a roll of his eyes. Dean started to retort, opening his mouth wide, but it quickly shut and he folded his arms over his chest and Sam chuckled, quick and short, but it was something.

John just laughed and folded his arms. "Do you guys understand what I'm trying to show you here?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances once more before looking back at their father.

"I'm trying to show you that because of you two saving this family from that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, they're happy and alive and healthy. They didn't have to go through what we did. Charlie didn't have to lose Monica the way that I lost Mary; the way that you two lost your mother. Rosey was never infected with demon blood the way that you were, Sam," John explained and he looked into his younger son's hazel and shame-filled eyes. Sam lowered his head a fraction. "You know what that family did tonight? They went to a Christmas Eve pagaent at their local church. Rosey stood up with the children's choir and sang for her parents. She even had her own solo. Then they did a nativity scene where Rosey played the Virgin Mary. Boys, these people are alive because of you two. They're going to be adding another addition to their family in their family next year. Monica is going to tell Charlie tomorrow for Christmas that she's pregnant with another baby," the oldest Winchester continued on. "You two save lives daily. Because of you boys, this family can keep going. Rosey is going to grow up to be a big sister. This family has been spared the heartache and the turmoil that we all went through _because of you two_," John told them, staring intently into both of his sons' eyes, his hands clasped down on their shoulders again. "I have one more I wanna show you. Come on," John told them as he released a hand from Dean's shoulder to snap his fingers again.

This time they found themselves standing in a hospital room. There was a new mother, tired but happy- looking, holding a newborn child in her arms and the baby was making gentle, cooing noises, eyes shut tight. The newborn wore a little blue, softly-knitted cap on his head and was swaddled in blue blankets. The father was sitting on the edge of the bed and his tiny hand was wrapped tightly around his father's large index finger. He opened his large eyes to stare around the room in wonderment before they turned to look up at his mommy. "He has quite the grip for being only a few hours old," laughed the mother and she rested her head on her husband's shoulder. He just laughed along with her, using his free hand to finger some of her hair.

"Merry Christmas, Angie," the father whispered softly, removing his hand from her hair and running it down his wife's face.

"Merry Christmas, Todd," she whispered back and the couple kissed softly, breaking apart before Angie laid her blonde head against her husband's chest while the two stared down at their new, beautiful bundle of joy of happiness and Christmas. "The most amazing Christmas gift we could ever receive," she added with a tired but happy sigh.

"You see that little boy there?" John questioned looking at his sons. "Because of you two killing the yellow-eyed demon, you saved that innocent, small little thing from a terrible fate. A fate like yours, Sammy."

"What?" Sam questioned, his eyes growing wide as he turned his head from the baby and stared at his father, brows furring across his face. "What do you mean?"

"Yeah, Dad. I don't understand. How could somebody go through what all Sam's been through?" Dean questioned, his arms folding across his chest.

"This child was going to be the one who'd be Lucifer's next vessel. If the yellow-eyed demon would've survived, there could've been ways to bring Lucifer back out of the cage, Sam. Even though you threw him back in, he would've found another way to break free. He can't now because you killed that demon. There is nobody else ever again in this world that he can vessel. You two saved that little baby in there from living a life just like your own, Sam," John elucidated. "Because of you, my boys, you've saved more people than I can even count. Yes, I understand you may have killed some innocents. Killing demons with the knife, the bodies die. Sam, when you killed innocents when you had no soul, you had no instinct, you had no moral center. You were just doing the job that I taught you to do. No hold's barred."

Sam dropped his head, his long hair shadowing his eyes, shoved his hands into his jeans' pockets and slumped his shoulders. He attempted to turn from John and Dean, but John approached his youngest and placed both hands gingerly on his shoulders, turning him back to face him.

"You can't be held accountable for the things you were doing that you didn't even understand, Sam. You didn't have a soul to guide you. Dean, you can't be held accountable for killing people with a demon knife or the colt or hell, just even exorcising. A lot of those people were going to die anyway. You were killing demons. It's _okay_. You boys aren't evil, you're not bad, and you're certainly not _killers_," John emphasized the last word, turning to stare heavily into Dean's green eyes. "_You are hunters_. You hunt evil and you kill evil and save many many innocent lives by doing so. Don't you understand? There are people out there who need people like us. Me? I can't do it anymore for obvious reasons, but you two? You are Winchesters, and you are my sons. You two go out there and risk your own lives every single day to rid this world of the evil bastards that stalk it. If it weren't for you, there wouldn't be so many happily families and normal lives out there today because you saved them from being killed by the next evil thing," the oldest Winchester explained, trying to make his boys understand their importance.

Sam and Dean both just stared down at their feet as their father carried on with his lecture. Both had been rendered speechless by John's words. Never had they heard their father talking like this. Never had they heard anybody really tell them or show them that because of them, they had saved so many lives and protected so many people and made so many happy families.

"Boys, maybe we all couldn't have the happy, normal family that we deserved, but at least then and now, you brothers can still make it so that other people can. You're my sons, and I am so proud of you both," John told them as the brothers lifted their heads in unison to stare into their father's dark eyes, shining with pride over his children. He raised a hand to each of them and cupped each one of their faces roughly in his hands before smiling again once more at his boys, snapping his fingers and they disappeared from the hospital room.

The Winchester brothers found themselves back in their motel room, standing in front of their beds but no trace of John there.

"Dad?" Dean called out, looking around the room. "Dad!"

"Looks like he's gone now too," Sam pointed out as he slowly sat down on the end of his bed. "Man...," Sam murmured. "That was just...," he couldn't even think of a word to describe what he and his brother had just been through.

Dean followed Sam, sitting down on the end of his bed. "Well, I guess Cas wasn't kidding, was he?" the older Winchester questioned nobody in particular. He was more talking to himself. "Maybe we did need some kind of reality check. Especially you," he added, inclining his head toward his younger brother.

"Dean-," Sam began with a sigh, but stopped as his older brother held a hand up shaking his head, signaling he didn't want to hear Sam's protests.

"I'm just saying is all," Dean responded. "So, maybe we should hang out and try not to fall asleep? The next one should be coming around anytime now, right?" He gazed over at the digital clock on the nightstand. It read 10pm. They'd only been gone for an hour.

"The next one would be Ghost of Christmas Future, Dean. If you remember the story at all, the Ghost of Christmas Future wasn't exactly a pleasant ride," Sam pointed out. "We should probably prepare ourselves for the worst."

"Pfft, why do you always have to be a Negative Nancy?" Dean grumbled as he laid back on his bed, head dipping into his pillows, though taking a moment to grab one and throw it at Sam. Sam caught it before the pillow could hit him in the face and he threw it back at Dean. Dean just chuckled and tucked it under his head along with his pile of other pillows. "Eh screw it. I'm going to sleep. I guess the next one will wake me up when it's gets here," the older Winchester grunted as he placed his arms comfortably behind his head once more and crossed one foot over the other. He let out a big sigh and closed his eyes, actually looking content as he dozed off for once.

Sam just shook his head, amused by his older brother and lay back as well. Feeling his own eyes growing heavy he rolled over onto his side and dozed off into a fitful sleep, wary of what this last ghost was going to bring them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The Ghost of Christmas Future**

Sam shot up in bed with a gasp, the air in the room feeling eerily heavy. Within a few seconds Dean followed his brother, and the two turned toward each other trying to meet one another's eyes, but found they couldn't even see each other. Not even their outlines could be seen in the velvety, black darkness that seemed to cloak their room. The only light that _could_ be seen were the vibrant, red numbers of the digital clock reading 11:00. It was still Christmas Eve, and they hadn't even been asleep all that long, had they? An hour maybe. Sam felt a nervous chill run down his spine and he shivered, running a shaking hand through his hair, down his neck and hugged himself. The brothers both slowly stood up from their beds, hands reaching out to find and grasp on to each other.

"Dean, I can't see a thing in here," Sam spoke in barely above a whisper. "Where the hell are you?"

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean's raspy voice responded through the thick layer of darkness. There wasn't even a hint of moonlight coming through the windows to even cast a shadow off of the wall. Sam's hand brushed up against the soft sleeve of Dean's shirt and he grabbed it in his hand, grasping long fingers around the cotton. "There you are," the relief evident in Dean's tone as he too grabbed ahold of Sam's shirt. "Stay next to me," he ordered softly, protective instincts coming out of nowhere.

Sam couldn't decide if he wanted to squeeze his brother's arm in gratitude or roll his eyes and laugh. Instead, he focused on the now. "So you feel it too?" Sam questioned his older brother in barely above a whisper, eyes darting around the blackness and seeing nothing. "I mean it feels-," but Sam didn't get to finish what he was saying. A soft sigh came from in front of him and Dean, and his whole body stiffened.

"There's nothing to be afraid of in here, boys," came a quiet, feminine voice, and Dean felt like his heart was going to lodge it's way into his throat. Sam's pounded erratically against his ribcage. It couldn't be...could it? Feeling oddly safe, the brothers let go of each other and turned toward the direction the voice had come from. A softened, dim light surrounded the source of the voice and a woman stood there. She lowered the hood of a dark cloak she was wearing slowly, her back turned toward the boys, and a cascade of wavy, blonde hair fell down her back. She turned to face the boys, eyes brilliantly blue against the darkness that seemed to envelope them and gave a tender smile.

"My beautiful sons." She moved forward, slowly, almost seemingly gliding as she brought both of her hands up to cup their faces in a loving, but cool touch as if she'd spent the day out in the cold winter with no gloves on her hands. Both boys flinched ever so slightly and surprised that their mother's touch was so chilly compared to Jess and John's who's had been warm and inviting, but they paid it no mind. This was their mother after all. Sam looked downward, averting his eyes from Mary's and biting his lower lip while Dean's eyes fluttered closed at their mother's touch. "Look how you've grown," Mary gushed softly, her fingers tenderly rubbing against their cheeks, rough from a day or two's worth of not shaving. "Why won't you look at me?" she questioned her sons softly, tilting her head with a confused expression on her face. "Sam, Dean. Open your eyes. Please, let me see you."

Dean did as his mother asked and opened his grassy green eyes, staring down at his mother with a mixture of pain and confusion. "I-I thought that...the ghost of Christmas future was supposed to be a...scary...uhhh r-reaper-lookin' dude?" the elder Winchester tried to joke, but found his voice was ridden with tremors. Typically in a case like this, Sam would smack Dean on the back of the head or arm or something, but the youngest Winchester still had his head turned away, lowered, and Dean realized that his younger brother's eyes were closed tightly shut. He was so near him that he could feel Sam's identical shaking that Dean had been trying to hide. He longed to reach out and place a calming hand on his little brother's shoulder, to squeeze it in reassurance, but being in Mary Winchester's presence had him rooted to the spot. Frozen. He couldn't move. All he could do was just stare at the beauty that was his mother, but a sadness seemed to encompass her and was easily seen on her face. Despite that, she smiled lightly and turned loving eyes up toward her youngest boy.

"Sam, don't hide your face from me," her motherly tones broke out gently. "Look at your mother. I want to see you."

"Why, Mom? Why would you want to see me? Why would you even want to look at me?" Sam's whispering voice tremulous, his eyes open now, but still not looking at Mary. Anywhere but Mary. They were focused heavily on the curtain hanging against the window, squinting as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen and something he'd typically study in a book or on his laptop. Sam barked out an unamused laugh, his shoulders slumping. "I'm a poor excuse and disgrace for a son. A son who made all the wrong decisions all of his life. A son who a mother should be disappointed in. A son who isn't hu-," but Sam was cut off as Mary firmly grasped his chin and turned his face toward her own.

She placed a slender finger on Sam's lips to silence him, and the youngest Winchester found himself obeying, his hazel eyes widening in surprise. He met his mother's brilliant blue orbs, and for the third time tonight, Sam felt like he just wanted to collapse right there on the floor. His legs felt like jello underneath him and it was at that moment that Sam could feel Dean's hand grasp ahold of his shoulder and squeeze it tight, almost as if Dean was pouring his own strength into his little brother. Sam's eyes stung and misted over as he found himself caught in Mary's gaze. He blinked rapidly against the stinging sensation. God, he hated emotions. Especially every since he'd gotten his soul back. They seemed to like to pop up at the most inconvenient times, or at least it felt that way.

"Shhh, that's enough now, Sam. You're my son. You both are my sons," she responded warmly, still keeping her hands cupped on her boys' faces. Mary brought her hand up to run it through Sam's hair in comfort. She repeated the same for Dean. "I'm going to take you boys on one more journey tonight. I've been watching you both for awhile now. I know what's going on in your minds. Dean, I know you're exhausted, honey. I know you feel like you constantly fight, and you try so hard for absolutely nothing. I know that you want to protect Sam after everything, and you feel like you can't. Or that you feel completely helpless at times. I know you watch Sam like a hawk. To make sure nothing ever hurts him, or nothing could ever steal his soul or rip his soul away from him again. I know deep down you're terrified he'll revert back to how he was when he had no soul. I do, Dean. I know how scared you are, I really do."

Mary sighed, a slow sad sigh before her eyes, that were filling with tears, slid back over to meet her youngest's. "Sam, I know you feel like you're a living, walking, talking, disgrace to the world. I know the intense remorse that you feel for all the things that you did when you had no soul. I know that you remember you went to Hell, Sam. I know of the memories that have seeped through. I know that you feel like you still continue to deserve it and twice over. I know that you lock yourself away in the bathroom at night after Dean's asleep just so you can cry because there is nothing else you_ can_ do, or you drink until you fall asleep, but it still doesn't make you feel any better. I know of the times you've taken a loaded gun with you on your walks and looked at it and contemplated why you're even here when you shouldn't be to begin with, and that maybe you should just put yourself back where you belong. Your words, Sam. Not mine. I understand. I honestly do."

The hand on his shoulder was squeezing him tighter, actually causing it to hurt a bit. Only this time it wasn't a reassuring, comforting squeeze. Dean was not happy. Then the weight of Dean's hand was gone, and for some odd reason it made the youngest Winchester feel strangely empty. Sam flinched at his mother's words, lowering his head in shame, his cheeks growing hot, and he ignored the sharp stare he could feel burning into the side of his skull from his brother. Did he not learn anything from Jess and Dad's visits? He knew Dean was pissed at him. Sam knew he was probably ready to just grab him by the shoulders, shake the hell out of him and ask him that, ask him what the hell he was thinking. This is why Sam would've rather Dean didn't know that bit of information, but apparently their mother thought differently. Sam wanted to get angry, but he found that he couldn't even do that. It was either he didn't have the energy to get angry, or he just couldn't get angry at their mother. But everything that Mary had said was true. Not that he could actually help from it.

Sam had gone well over a year and a half of having no feelings or emotions. Almost two months ago he suddenly just had them jam-packed right back into him, and they slammed him in every single direction possible. Sometimes it was hard to remember how to control them. He'd find himself getting angry at the drop of a hat over the most ridiculous things or dreadfully sad, and it was hard to hide them like he used to before any of this had happened to him. He'd always been an emotional person, there was no doubt about that, but he'd been a master at masking his pain or his anger, courtesy of Dean Winchester. Of course back then when they surfaced that always gave Dean a chance to poke fun or tease him or call him a gigantic girl. His older brother hadn't done that to him as heavily since he'd gotten his soul back, which surprised Sam to say the least. Though now he knew, Dean could call him that as well as chide him for turning into an alcoholic and scold him, or rather yell at him until he was blue in the face, about the contemplation of suicide. He knew Dean wasn't going to take this bit of information lightly. Sam sighed uncomfortably, doing everything he could not to meet his brother's eyes.

"I know how both of you avoid looking at each other. How you both avoid talking to one another unless you're on a hunt or if it's of absolute necessity that you two speak," Mary pointed out. "I know you can't look into Sam's eyes without worrying that you're going to see that cold, emotionless expression, Dean. I know that you can't look into Dean's eyes without feeling extremely guilty because of the vampire and Bobby incident, Sam."

Sam snorted and shook his head. "Incident?" he asked incredulously. "That was more than an incident, Mom. It was all my fault that I lost Dean his family," Sam found himself spilling, not able to control himself. "I almost KILLED what was left of OUR family!"

"And I've tried to tell you it _wasn't_ your fault, Sammy," Dean sighed with exasperation, scrubbing a hand over his roughened face. Sam made to open his mouth, but Mary closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Listen, this isn't the time or place for any of this," Mary cut in, her voice a bit more firm. "I know that both of you are considering giving up. You especially, Sam. I'm going to take you into the future. I want you to see what's going to happen should you two make the decisions you're considering making. It's enough to break any mother's heart."

Sam and Dean couldn't look at each other, as usual, which had Dean doing his best to make another Christmas Carol snark. "So are we going to the cemetery to see where we're planted or something?"

Mary just sighed and placed her hands on her boys' foreheads and they disappeared in a quick flash of light. It was so rapid and bright that it was almost as if they were having their picture taken. They reappeared somewhere unfamiliar. It was nighttime and loud music was coming from somewhere. Mary pointed out a finger silently as both boys turned and saw a rather shabby-looking, old tavern that almost looked as if you poked it with a stick it'd crumble at your feet. The loud music seemed to be coming from there, and the parking lot was filled with cars. Sam's eyes scanned the area before coming to rest on something he never dared dream he'd see. The younger Winchester tapped his older brother on the shoulder. "Uhhh...Dean?" he said softly.

"What?" Dean snapped as he whirled around before his eyes fell in a horrendous sight. It was the Impala, and she was looking more than a little worse for wear. The black paint job on her was no longer shining. In fact, it had taken on an almost ashy color. The bottom of the car around the tires and doors was beginning to rust. The passenger sideview mirror had been busted out and the back window on the driver's side of the four-door, once beautiful classic had a black tarp tacked to it, also suggesting that the back window had been busted. "Oh my...oh my _GOD_!" breathed Dean as he rushed over to the car. "Oh, Baby what have they _DONE _to you!" the elder Winchester exclaimed sounding distraught. Dean reached his hands out to pamper his car, but they went straight through the vehicle. "Goddammit! I forgot. We can't touch anything, can we?" he growled, but his mother didn't speak. Her face was turned straight toward the tavern staring intently and she never budged.

Sam grabbed ahold of Dean's arm and pulled him back near where their mother stood and waited. Within moments the entrance door to the bar flung open and the music, accompanied by a range of loud voices, flooded the night. A man, obviously very drunk, stumbled out of the building, a bottle of Jack sloshing around in one hand, and his other arm was occupied by a woman. She had curly, dark hair which some had been pulled up to the top of her head and was looking rather scantily-clad in a short, black mini skirt, top revealing nearly everything she carried on her chest and abdomen and high-heeled boots on her feet. The man tossed back a deep swig of the bottle of Jack and inclined his face drunkenly toward the woman's with a goofy grin.

The light caught it just in time and Sam gasped, feeling his stomach turn. It was Dean, and he was looking very rough around the edges. It appeared he hadn't shaved in days, his jeans and coat were completely worn and the woman under his arm was definitely not a Dean type. Not only that, but his future self seemed to be nowhere in sight, and given the sight and shape that the Impala was in, he most likely wasn't. Sam felt his heart lurch in his chest as the bar door flung open once more. Out traipsed three guys around the same size as Dean, The one in the middle was slightly bigger in mass, with light brown hair. The other two seemed to follow him, as though he were the leader of their little pack. The one on the right had black hair and was about an inch or two taller than Dean. The one on the left was blond with a thin, lanky build. The three men followed him out looking fierce, looking ready for a fight. The younger Winchester tried to ignore the erratic beating of his heart as it pounded against his ribcage like a prisoner pounding on bars begging to be let free.

"Go on and run, baby," Dean of the future slurred to the woman as he gave her a slight push. "I'll handle these jackasses." The woman screamed and took off at a run, her heels clacking against the pavement in the distance as the men came closer, looming over Dean now who was taking another huge drink of the Jack in his hands, finishing off the bottle. He grunted as he swallowed the burning liquid and threw the bottle, the sound of it breaking echoing somewhere nearby. "So, you sons of bitches tried to start something with me in the bar, and now you're following me out here huh? Well take your best shot assholes, because I'm the best goddamn hunter on the planet." The three men exchanged glances before they started laughing as Dean brandished a small knife from his jeans, waving it drunkenly at the three . "What're you bastards laughin' at huh?"

"Ohhh, Dean Winchester. Ever the drunken idiot excuse for a hunter. Just like your daddy," the brown-haired, middle one taunted as he approached the inebriated Winchester and grabbed his wrist so quickly that Dean didn't have time to react and squeezed, causing Dean to grunt from the pain and drop the knife. The man's eyes flashed black before a sinister grin crossed his face and the other two followed him, their eyes turning black as well. The middle demon gave Dean a heavy, hard shove, sending the elder Winchester stumbling backward right into the dumpster at the side of the tavern. Sam gasped, running both of his hands through his hair, hazel orbs widened as he watched the demons attack his brother. _Where the hell am I! Why am I not helping Dean! _Dean just stood back completely shell-shocked at the scene he was witnessing, not able to take his eyes off of his future self.

"What's wrong, Winchester? Can't fight back? Don't have your back up? Poor little Sammy not a hunter anymore, is he?" the demon chided as the other two advanced on Dean. The black-haired one approached him, slamming him down to the ground, while the blond one on the left straddled him, and grabbed him by the throat.

"You-wanna...kill me?" Dean managed to croak out as the demon squeezed. "Get...in line, dick. A lot of you evil sons of bitches have wanted to get your hands on this sweet piece of ass since day one. None of you have managed to do it yet." Dean brought his hands up, desperately clawing at the demon's large hand clasped around his throat.

"Oh no, we're not gonna kill you. Boss doesn't want us doing that. We're just gonna play with you a little bit," the blond demon responded dangerously, picking Dean up off of the ground, still by his throat, and holding the hunter up to his face. "So, are you ready to have some fun yet?" the demon sneered before throwing Dean across the parking lot. Dean landed hard and rolled onto his back, hands clamping around his throat, massaging his bruised windpipe and coughing before pushing himself up on his hands and knees, still coughing. The three demons were on him before Dean even got a chance to stand up. The blond one lifted a foot and kicked Dean repeatedly in the stomach, while the black haired one got down in front of him, grabbed Dean by his hair and pulled his face up to meet his own, his black eyes bearing down into Dean's own green ones.

"This is our playground. This is how we have fun," he told the hunter before punching Dean across the face repeatedly. One hit after another laying into his cheekbones, shattering them beneath bloodied knuckles. "Are we having fun yet?" Dean just grunted in response as the blood oozed from his nose and split lips, his face terribly swollen from the impact of the black-haired demon's fists.

As soon as Dean was down and all three demons were on him, Sam couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't watch his brother being beaten so defeatedly to a bloody pulp, and what's more was Sam didn't understand why he wasn't there and why he wasn't helping his older brother. It wasn't like Dean to just lay there and give up in a fight. Normally his older brother would be fighting back, but not this time, and Sam didn't understand why.

"NO! DEAN!" he dove for his brother and tried to grab the future Dean and pull him out of harm's way, but his arms went right through him. Right through Dean, right through the demons as if he were grabbing nothing but air, and Sam felt the despair fill him to the brim and weigh heavily, bowing his shoulders. There was nothing he could do now to save his brother. Sam whirled around as he faced his mother and Dean of now who could do nothing but just stare incredulously at what was in front of him.

"WHY WON'T YOU STOP THIS! WHY WON'T YOU HELP HIM! THEY'RE GOING TO KILL HIM, MOM! PLEASE!" Sam exploded, desperation resounding in his voice. He ran to his mother and grabbed her by the shoulders. "MAKE THIS STOP! PLEASE, MOM! PLEASE! THEY'RE GOING TO KILL HIM! WHERE AM I, MOM! I NEED TO HELP HIM! PLEASE!" Sam pleaded, but Mary just gazed sadly at her son as she raised her hands to rest gently on Sam's wrists. Sam stared precariously into his mother's eyes. "Please," his voice cracked. "Don't let Dean die, Mom."

His hazel eyes shone with tears as Mary lowered her head and shook it sadly. She wordlessly pointed back toward the scene and Sam looked over his shoulder, blinking the salty water away so he could see properly. He reluctantly let go of his mother's shoulders, turning back toward the scene playing out in front of them. There was a darkened outline of another man slowly, almost arrogantly walking toward them. Sam felt his breath catch in his throat. "No...," Sam's choked voice stated in barely above a whisper. "This...this can't be..." The man stopped just a few feet away from Dean and the group of demons, slowly raising a hand, and the demons stopped their assualt. They rose to their feet and began backing away.

"That'll be enough," the figure spoke and as he moved closer, the light from the streetlamps in the parking lot shone off of the man. A heavy gasp from Dean resounded as Sam fell back a couple of steps. Sam looked at his older brother, who was now staring at him in disbelief, his mouth slightly open.

"No...no, I swore I'd never...it's not, Mom. Please. Tell me that I'm not...," Sam stumbled over words as he turned back to his mother.

Mary just quietly shook her head, and she pointed back toward the figure and Dean. Sam didn't understand why their mother wouldn't answer him, but he obeyed and turned to watch his future.

"Well, it looks like we ended up back to where I told you we would. Well, maybe not in the exact location, but close enough," Lucifer, wearing Sam's skin spoke in Sam's voice, sounding delightfully amused. "I'm sorry, Dean. I did warn you. You're the one that messed up." Lucifer sighed mockingly as he stepped closer to Dean, showing completely in the streetlight now. He was wearing a suit, similar to the one Dean had saw him wearing when Zachariah had decided to thrust his ass five years into the future. Only this time, he was dressed in all black. The jacket, the shirt underneath, the pants, the shoes. All black. Lucifer had Sam's hair tucked comfortably behind his ears, and Lucifer carried that grin of his that Dean had hated seeing on Sam's face.

Dean of the future rolled over on his side, clutching his stomach, coughing up blood onto the pavement. "Awwww, tsk tsk tsk, look at this scene. So sadly pathetic. I guess that's what you get for picking a fight with demons, Dean," Lucifer taunted as he crouched down to the man in front of him. " You know, if only you had tried to fight a little harder, to convince your brother a little more that he wasn't what he thought he was then maybe we wouldn't be here right now. Poor Sam. I actually feel for him because of everything he's been through, everything he's done. My heart truly breaks for him, but he's long gone now, and it's all your fault Dean. You drove him away, and now he's all mine again and well, I'm back," the Devil chortled.

"Now, I can finish what I had started before you two ruined it for me. It's kind of ironic isn't it? Sammy was so determined to stop me, and he did. For a little while. Threw me back down in the cage, but of course I was able to have a little fun with his soul before all was said and done. And then I come back, and he willingly says yes because his soul is so messed up, and you didn't bother helping him try to fix it. I guess I did the right thing?" he chuckled his arrogant chuckle again, and Sam found himself feeling like he was going to be sick. He couldn't stand seeing himself like this, hearing himself like this. This wasn't _him._ And he certainly wasn't going to hurt his brother in such a manner either. "Well, this has been fun, Dean, but for you it's over. I told you once before Dean, I win. So, I win," Lucifer shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and walked away from the beaten, broken, bloodied man on the pavement.

"No...Dean," Sam managed to croak before there was another flash of 'camera light' and the boys found themselves standing in a wet, dark night. There were no stars or moon in the sky. It had the feeling as though it had just rained, and a heavy fog had settled around the brothers.

"M-mom?" Dean finally spoke up after the horrific scene that had just played out in front of him. He seemed to have found his voice again, but surprisingly enough, he was calm. "Where are we?" his voice sounded hoarse and maybe even somewhat scared, but still calm. Mary didn't speak a word, there was just a soft sigh that drifted from her and she looked up at her two sons, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Mary's head lowered as she didn't speak and pointed once more toward where a light now shone. It was showing over what looked like a gravestone. They were in a cemetery. Sam grabbed ahold of his older brother's shirt sleeve, almost as if he were trying to draw strength from Dean. "It's okay, it's okay Sammy. It's okay," Dean breathed out slowly as he grabbed ahold of his younger brother's arm, and the two began moving slowly toward the gravestone.

"No...nononono," Sam choked out, losing all ability to stand and dropping to his knees in front of the headstone. "No, Dean," his voice trembled as his large hands slowly raised to clutch onto the sides of the grave. The words engraved into the sepia-toned rock read:

_**Dean Winchester**_

_**January 24, 1979- December 24, 2011**_

_**Beloved Older Brother and son. Rest in Peace**_

"Oh god...I, god, no. Please tell me, that I didn't, that it wasn't...no, Dean. Oh god, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry!" Sam's forehead came to rest against the gravestone, his entire body shook uncontrollably. "No!" His voice came out choked and mumbling. Long bits of hair had fallen into his eyes, so his face couldn't be seen.

"Sam! Sammy! It's okay, it's okay! I'm here! I'm right here!" Dean shoved back his own shock from the prior events and pulled Sam away from the gravestone, down on his knees now with his brother and he grabbed ahold of Sam's large shoulders, shaking him roughly. It wasn't his own tombstone that had Dean in the frame of mind he was in. His own death didn't particularly shock him anymore, but the earlier chain of events had him shaken. Dean pulled himself together for his little brother's sake.

"Sammy! Look at me! I'm right here, it's okay. You didn't do anything." Dean worked at trying to pull his younger brother out of whatever deep, dark pit he'd allowed himself to fall into at this very moment, tried to pull him back to reality. "Sammy, please! Look at me! I'm here! I'm not dead, Sam!" When his brother wouldn't respond, Dean glared up at his mother, not understanding why she of all people had to be the one to show them something like this. Couldn't Cas have sent a goddamn demon to the dirty work?

"Mom. Tell him. Please tell Sam that it's not his fault. TELL HIM!" He roared before turning back to his brother and holding him by his cheeks now slick with tears and pulling his face up to meet his own. "Sammy, C'mon now, Sam." But the younger Winchester didn't respond. He let out a heavy, uneven breath, before letting his head drop into his older brother's shoulder. "MOM!" Dean found himself yelling again not able to control himself. "TELL HIM IT'S NOT HIS FAULT! YOU TELL HIM, MOM!"

Mary sighed softly, her breath shaky. "I'm sorry, Dean. Raphael managed a way to pull Lucifer from his cage again and back on earth. He's back, he's wearing Sam. He's back and he's wreaking havoc all over the world. Sam willingly said yes to Lucifer, hoping that he'd tuck the memories away forever," Mary began solemnly. "Sam never bothered to try and fight him, to try and resurface because he just didn't care anymore. He didn't want to suffer anymore. He'd lost you, Dean. He was tired of the memories of Hell, he was tired of the memories of when he was soulless," Mary slowly approached her sons, with her head bowed. "He had nobody. Bobby gave him up, Dean, in Sam's eyes, you gave up _on_ him. There was nobody left. He was constantly on the run. Monsters, demons, even hunters that wanted revenge on a Winchester was always after him. He could never stay in one place for too long. He tried. He tried finding a normal job, working, meeting people, but it never lasted long. He even met a girl, but a demon killed her, and it sent him on the run again, until he felt as if he were nothing but a fugitive." Mary brought a hand out to stroke it through Sam's thick locks of hair.

"He had nobody, so he gave up because he just couldn't handle it anymore. Sam and Raphael struck a deal, and he was able to pull Lucifer back out. He told Lucifer that if he could just put him into an everlasting sleep in his own mind so that he'd never have to see or feel or run ever again, that he could have him so he would never have to pain like that again. He made Lucifer promise not to hurt you, and Lucifer kept his promise, but it was also a twisted one as Lucifer did let demons hurt you. Lucifer himself didn't lay a hand on you, but his demons did. So yes, Dean, and I'm so sorry," Mary's voice trembled.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy, but you did. That is Lucifer, and he's riding around in your very own skin yet again, only this time he's getting what he wants." Her fingers threaded themselves through Sam's hair, stroking it in a comforting manner, but the younger Winchester didn't raise his head to look at his mother. He stayed buried in his brother's shoulder while Dean used one hand to steady himself on the ground from falling and the other clasped around the back of Sam's neck.

Dean looked up at her, his eyebrows knitting together, eyes full of desperation. "Mom...?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry, Sam," Mary apologized, a shiny tear running down her soft, pink cheek. "I love you boys both so very much, and I hate to be the one who had to show you the future. If you two make the decisions that you're on the brink of making, then this could very well be your future. I'm so sorry," Mary left out a soft sob before wrapping her arms around both of her sons. She kissed Sam on top of his head and kissed Dean's forehead gently before standing up and stepping back. "Please think about your choices and the outcome of them if you don't want this to happen." Sam finally, slowly raised his head as he and Dean watched their mother step back away from them. The sad expression plastered to her face was the last they saw of Mary Winchester as she disappeared, leaving the boys cold and alone in the middle of the graveyard.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6- A Christmas to Remember**

Sam and Dean stared at each other, red-rimmed hazels meeting afflicted, scared greens, as their mother had disappeared from their sight. The fog dissapated around them, and both of the brothers found themselves on their knees on the floor in the middle of their motel room. Dean let go of Sam's neck, placing a hand on his brother's broad shoulder as he pushed himself to stand up on shaky legs. Sam just stayed on his knees, his face still tracked from left over tears, a look of utter despair and desperation tracing his gentle features. It nearly broke Dean's heart with how young and vulnerable Sammy looked just sitting there. This man was buff, tall, at least 6'4 and 220lbs, if not more, and it still amazed Dean over how somebody as big as him could make himself look so small and innocent, like a frightened young child afraid of the monsters in his closet. It was also amazing to Dean too at how such a big man could be such a sensitive ball of fluff, and he almost made himself smile at that thought. Almost.

"C'mon, Sammy," the elder Winchester coaxed softly as he extended a hand to his little brother. Sam raised a hand, clasping it around Dean's and allowed his older brother to pull him to his feet. Dean clapped Sam a few times on the back gingerly. "We're back in the motel room. It was just a possible future, little brother. Nothing else. It doesn't mean it'll really happen."

"Dean, yes it does," Sam began, his voice still rough from tears but eyes dry. "That was your future we just saw. _Your_ future, and it was all my fault, man. All _my_ fault," Sam reiterated sounding frantic. He raised his hands, running them through his hair on both sides of his head. "Dean...it was me who let it happen. I mean I let Lucifer just take me, willingly! Why would I do that? _How _could I do that? If I hadn't been so weak-," but Sam was cut off mid-sentence by Dean shaking his head at his younger brother and scoffing. Sam instantly pursed his lips closed.

"Look, Sammy, you have got to calm down, alright? We'll figure this out. We always do. I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm sticking right here by you, little bro. Alright? In the meantime though," Dean pointed toward the digital clock still shining brightly on the nightstand. It's red numbers read 12:00. "It's Christmas Day, kid. I say we pack up, get the hell out of here and head over to Bobby's. We should be spending with Christmas with family. We're only an hour out. I think Bobby would be happy to see us, don't you?"

Sam could do nothing but just nod his head in agreement, eyes not even meeting his older brother's. The events of earlier were still very fresh in his mind, and Dean could see that just by the vacant expression that had suddenly replaced the despairing one on Sam's face while the two packed their clothes into their duffels. They'd also pretty much rendered the kid speechless now. Sure Sam was seeing, but he wasn't really _seeing_ anything around him. Dean took note of that while a typically OCD Sam would be folding his clothes and carefully placing them into his bag, he just shoved them in haphazardly without a care in the world, not even really paying any attention to what he was doing. He walked like a robot into the bathroom, gathered the bag that carried his shaving kit, bathroom supplies and walked back out to his bed, shoving it down into his bag along with everything else. He hadn't even bothered taking out his laptop that Christmas Eve which had been another surefire sign that something was definitely wrong with Sam, and Dean had just about been ready to throw the towel in, but not anymore. Not after what Jessica, John and Mary had shown them tonight.

Dean eyed his younger brother, wondering if tonight had taught Sam anything at all too, because this was bad. Every since Sam had gotten his soul back, Dean had to admit his brother was a gigantic ball of different emotions, trying to process them all and remember when it was appropriate to show what he was feeling and when it wasn't. Dean couldn't blame him though. The man hadn't felt a thing for over a year and a half. He'd start laughing and feel happy just out of the blue and talk about whatever it was that was making him laugh. Whether it be something absolutely silly and absurd he saw out the car window, or a particular old memory from when they were kids up to now. Sometimes he'd just sit there silently, staring out the window or staring at absolutely nothing and tears would sometimes show in his eyes, but Dean never pushed. Sometimes Sam talked. Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he'd just get so angry that they had to hurry out of motel rooms as quickly as possible so as not to pay for the damage done to motel property, and sometimes he was just quiet and content with himself, face stuffed into his laptop doing his research or too quiet and folded in on himself.

It almost reminded Dean of how erratic and all over the place Sam's emotions had been that year after he'd sold his soul for Sam's life. Sometimes he'd be joking and laughing, sometimes on the verge of tears, and it scared him. Don't get him wrong though. Dean was more than happy that his brother's soul was back and rightfully where it belonged. He just didn't want his brother to become the vegetable that Cas, Death, even Crowley had warned them about. Some memories of Hell had slowly seeped out into nightmares of soft whimpering, of 'please, don't, and help me' and of gasping awake, but Sam still remained _Sammy._ He hadn't gone out of his mind, but now with Sam moving so stiff and staring ahead, not seeming to have a care in the world, it scared Dean. He couldn't help it though, and he had every right to be nervous about it. Had Sam reverted back to old Robo Sam? Swallowing his fear, Dean approached his younger brother, his duffel fully packed and slung over his shoulder now. Sam, however, was gazing downward and refolding clothes he'd noticed he'd shoved in there all wadded up. Well, at least OCD Sammy was coming out now. Dean huffed a gentle sigh, rubbing his hand down over his mouth.

"Hey, Sam. You, uh...," Dean cleared his throat. "You ready to go?" He was almost afraid to hear the sound of Sam's voice or look into his eyes, but at the same time he was determined for Sam to raise his face and look at him. He didn't though, just kept staring into his bag as he rearranged clothes and items in a more orderly fashion.

"In a minute, Dean," Sam responded in a very soft, low voice and the crazy beating of Dean's heart slowed in his chest. He didn't _sound _anything like his brother without a soul. He sounded like Sammy. A beaten, broken down and defeated Sammy, but nevertheless, Sammy.

Dean sighed as quietly as possible. "Alright dude, I'm gonna go pack up the car. I'll meet you outside."

Sam's shoulders shuddered momentarily as if shaking off a chill. He rolled them forward and then moved his head as if he were popping his neck, trying to rid his body of the tension he was currently feeling. Did Dean not want to be around him anymore? "Dean, wait. I'm almost done. I'll come with you." Sam zipped up his bag swiftly, threw on his jacket, grabbed his laptop bag and hung both of the straps over his right shoulder. He turned toward his older brother who was standing and waiting patiently at the motel door for his brother, eyes at half-mast, eyebrows slightly turned upward, and Dean breathed a breath of relief. He was still in there. He had that puppy dog 'I did something wrong, and I'm sorry' look plastered to his face, as if he _were_ a dog waiting for a beating.

Dean grinned at his brother before tossing the weapons duffel over his free shoulder, and his own bag's strap slung around his other. "Let's go, Sammy," Dean beckoned gently with a slight jerk of his head pointing them toward the Impala sitting in the parking lot, awaiting her passengers.

Sam gave a tiny nod and followed his brother obediently across the room. He stopped to switch off the lights and then shut the door gently behind them. _Ever the Sammy_.Dean thought to himself with gentle amusement. They approached the trunk where both brothers shoved in their bags and Dean slammed it shut. He smiled up at Sam. "Alright, Sam! Let's get on the road! I think Bobby is going to be happy to see us. I mean, it's a little after midnight. I don't think he'd be sleeping just yet. The old man doesn't go to bed until almost, what, 5am sometimes? That is if he even goes to bed."

Sam hitched a shoulder as he walked around to his side of the car, opened up the passenger side door and ducked his head to get inside. He plopped onto the black, leather bench seat of Dean's baby, jammed his long legs against the dash and pulled the heavy door shut. Dean slid in and started her up, giving a small smile before looking over at his younger brother who was already leaning his head up against the cool, frosted-over window, looking out at absolutely nothing. Dean sighed as the music filled the car, the instant he turned her over, and the purr of the engine resounded around them along with the music, vibrating against their feet planted on the floor. Sam gave a soft sigh, closing his eyes momentarily and then reopening them.

Dean chose not to pester his little brother. Sam would talk when he was ready. They had just been through a whole lot. Sam seeing Jess, he and Sam seeing their pasts, seeing their father and all the lives that they'd saved, seeing their mother and their futures was enough to send anybody into some kind of meltdown, but after Sam's small breakdown in the graveyard, he'd quickly composed himself the moment they arrived back at the motel. Dean just huffed a sigh and shook his sandy head, knowing that this was Sam's way of keeping it all to himself, holding it all in. He reached a hand out to crank up the music a bit more, and the younger Winchester didn't seem to perturbed by it, and so he just let it carry on as Dean pulled onto the darkened street, only lit by the motel streetlamps and moonlight peeking out from behind unseen clouds.

He hoped though that upon seeing everything that he did, Sam had learned how important he was to Dean, how much he loved his younger brother, because he sure learned how much Sam loved him. Any little brother who'd spend the night crying in his new girlfriend's arms over missing his older brother's birthday, or just missing him, was enough to tell Dean just how much he really did mean to Sam. John's visit had been a blessing, taking them around and showing them these lives that they had saved by going after the yellow-eyed demon and taking him out. If it weren't for he and his brother, those people could've lead lives just like his and Sam's, or worse. It could've even ended up as bad as Max's life. Poor, abused children with a father who'd drink and repeatedly hit them, scream at them. Dean shuddered at the thought, but remembered that all of that was all over now because of him and Sam. John had been trying to show them just how important they both were to the world. His mother's visit however, was definitely no cakewalk.

But Dean also knew himself as well. He had watched in horror while his future self was beaten to a bloody pulp by three demons. His future self had let them, because just like Sam, Dean hadn't cared anymore. Nothing mattered. His little brother was gone. He didn't have Lisa or Ben anymore. Bobby was probably dead. So Dean knew how his future self would react, but what had really knocked him for a loop was Lucifer back on earth and wearing his baby brother's skin yet again. He could understand how this had had the same affect on Sam. Sam had been an absolute wreck the night he remembered what his body had done while topside, especially when he discovered that he let Dean get turned into a vampire. The kid had been beside himself. When Dean had approached him to try and calm him, Sam had backed away, hands in the air, not allowing Dean to touch him. He had told Dean it was because he didn't want to hurt him ever again. Sam had put his fist through the bathroom mirror that night after Dean had fallen asleep.

He'd dashed out of the bathroom, just as Dean had flown up in bed from the impact of the noise along with the falling glass, and flew out of the motel room before his older brother had even had the chance to get out of bed. He'd taken off, not in the car, but on foot to God only knew where. Dean had gotten out of bed, retreated into the bathroom to examine the mess. The mirror had been broken pretty damn good. Sam's blood had been spattered on the sink, on the floor and scattered glass laid across the bathroom floor. He'd dressed himself and jumped in the Impala. It had taken two hours before he'd finally found Sam, in stupor, standing in an alley, possibly drunk. He'd had a nearly full bottle of Jack clutched in his good hand and was looking worse for the wear...

_Glass shattering was the one thing that jerked him from sleep that night. Dean flew up in bed just in time to see the bathroom door fling open with decent force, slamming back against the wall, and Sam dashed out. He didn't speak a word, didn't look at his older brother, just grabbed his jacket and was out the door before Dean even had the time to toss his covers off. Confused, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and got out of bed. He approached the bathroom, leaning against the door frame, to survey the damage that his younger brother had left beind. Clad only in his t-shirt and boxers, Dean stood in the bathroom doorway, his green eyes widening. He certainly hadn't expected for Sam to bust out the mirror. He thought maybe Sam had just dropped some glasses or something, but no. Not even close. _

_Shards of glass that refused to fall had still clung to the mirror frame and was scattered about all over the sink, littering the bathroom floor but that wasn't what really got Dean. He flinched at the sight of his brother's blood splattered on the bathroom counter top and clinging to bits of glass. Dean sighed, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. "Awww, dammit Sam." He was fairly certain that Sam's hand was all cut up, and most likely not in good shape. So, Dean quickly dressed and hopped in the Impala wasting as little time as possible. He drove all over town searching for Sam, but there was absolutely no sign of his sasquatch brother. Dean was about to give up, let Sam come back (hopefully) on his own then perhaps he could look into treating his younger brother's hand, when he drove past the alley and his eyes caught a shadow. _

_A very tall shadow. A very broad-shouldered, slumped over against the wall shadow. A mop-haired shadow. Dean pulled the car up near the alleyway and stopped, turned her off and slowly got out. He walked down the alley to where his wayward little brother stood, back now leaning against the wall, his bad hand wrapped in what looked like a dirty handkerchief, but blood dripping steadily from it, seeping through the cloth. "Sam?" Dean spoke up gently, quietly as he approached his little brother. Sam's head hung listlessly, long bangs falling into his eyes and obscuring his face from Dean's view. _

_"I let you get hurt," was all that mumbled out of Sam's mouth. Dean carefully brought his hand out to take Sam's injured one and look and see just how bad the kid had screwed the appendage. Sam flinched and jerked back away from Dean's touch. "Don't touch me," he hissed at his older brother. Sam peered up at Dean through long bits of hair that had fallen into his eyes. If he hadn't had his soul at this point, Sam's expression might've scared Dean, but then it quickly softened as his eyes met Dean's. _

_Dean stepped back a step, but not too far away from his younger brother. He knew Sam needed him, Sam himself just didn't know it yet. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I won't touch you," Dean apologized holding both hands up to show he meant it. Sam's bottom lip quivered as Dean backed off, and he dropped his head again. "Why don't you get in the car ,and I'll take you back to the motel. We can clean up your hand and talk about this, huh? Then I'll go and get you one of those salad shakes you love. I'll get you some of your favorite coffee, and I'll even take you out for pancakes for breakfast in the morning. Whaddya say, Sammy?"_

_Sam shook his head, sending long locks flying and turned away from his older brother, still leaning against the alley wall. "I hurt you, Dean. If you touch me, I could hurt you again. I almost let you get killed, Dean. You almost died...again...because of me. I-I can't let that happen again. I just can't."_

_"Sammy...," Dean began, slowly approaching his brother again. He knew what Sam was referring to now. Sam had remembered letting him get turned into a vampire. "C'mon, just let me take you back to the car and-"_

_"NO!" Sam exploded sounding surprisingly sober and throwing his bottle of Jack across the alley. The echo of Sam's yell and the bottle breaking, the liquid inside splattering the ground, somewhere at the back of it, resounded. "I can't! I can't go with you again, Dean! I'll just get you hurt again, and I can't do that to you! Not now and not ever again!" Sam began earnestly. "I remember it all! I stood there, and I watched while that vamp turned you, and I didn't even care! All I could think about was just getting the job done, even at the cost of you being turned into a creature that we HUNT! When you came back to the motel room with me and Samuel and we thought you'd fed? I was ready to kill you, a-and I...I...I was going to do it, Dean. I was going to kill you," Sam paused as covered his face with his hands. "I just...I can't, Dean. I can't do it again. No," his voice began trembling inside of his hands and his breath hitched. _

_Dean knew the warning signs. Sam was either about to get really angry and start breaking things, granted there wasn't anything out in the alley to break, though he could target the Impala, or he was going to be dissolving into tears at any moment now. So Dean waited for the assault or the torrential flood. It seemed it was the latter, because a sniff was heard from behind his hands, and Dean grabbed a hold of Sam's hands, pulling them away from his face. He raised a hand and grabbed a hold of the back of his brother's soft, shaggy head and brought it to rest on the crest of his neck and shoulder. Sam didn't fight him. He just sort of went limp against his brother, not making a sound, but Dean didn't mistake the warm wetness he felt go down his neck and down his back._

_"That's ENOUGH Sam. That's just enough. You know that I've told you over and over again that it WASN'T you, Sammy. It was never the real you. This, Sam. This right here is the real you. And I know you, Sam. This person that you are? You would have never let anything like that happen, and you certainly aren't going to hurt me now. See?" Dean consoled his his little brother, threading his thick fingers through Sam's soft locks. "You're not hurting me now, are you?"_

_Sam just shook his head, burying his face further into the crook of Dean's neck, folding into Dean, muffled sobs beginning and 'I'm sorrys' in between each uneven breath, and Dean would be lying if he didn't say that he got a little choked up too as he raised his other arm to wrap around Sam and pull his brother in just a bit tighter. Somehow, the 6'4 sasquatch-sized package of little brother could fit perfectly against him, and Dean comforted him with a thumb rubbing up and down Sam's spine, whispering in his little brother's ear that it was okay, and it wasn't his fault._

_Shortly afterward, Dean, with his arm around Sam's shoulders, lead his trembling brother back to the car and made sure he was seated comfortably before going taking him back to the motel room, digging out the first aid kit, pulling bits of glass out of Sam's hand with a pair of sterilized tweezers, stitching only a few of the cuts and wrapping it carefully in gauze. "I'm sorry I punched the mirror. I didn't mean to I just got so angry," he apologized and tried to explain a few times while Dean set to work, but he just shook his sandy head at the younger Winchester. _

_"It's alright, Sam," Dean had insisted. "We've just gotta work on you getting a better handle on your emotions." After he was done, Sam had thanked him softly, refusing to raise his red, swollen eyes up to his older brother. Instead, he just plainly said he was tired and ready to turn in. Sam laid on his side, curling up on the bed in as small of a ball as he could manage. Dean chose to play the big brother role, tucking him in that night and sat on the edge of the bed until Sam was sound asleep._

Dean spared a glance over at Sam. The kid's head was still rested up against the window and his eyes closed, but Dean couldn't tell if his little brother was sleeping or not. His arms were folded against loosely against his stomach, and his breathing a bit deep. For all he knew though, Sam could be faking it so Dean wouldn't worry about him. He knew how his little brother's mind worked. Dean just let out a soft sigh, shaking his head back and forth before focusing back on the road.

Awhile later, they were pulling up into Bobby's salvage yard, and Dean reached over to gently prod his brother. "Hey, Sasquatch, wake up, we're here." Surprisingly enough Sam _had _fallen asleep on the drive there. Sam quickly sat up, brushing back loose strands of hair that had fallen into his face and tucked them behind his ears. He yawned and stretched his arms out in front of him as Dean slowed the car and stopped near the front of Bobby's porch.

"What time is it?" Sam murmured, knuckling sleep from his eyes.

"Oh about 1:30 in the morning," Dean responded cheerfully, and he got out of the car. "C'mon. Let's go bug Bobby," he added with a wink at his little brother. Sam just shook his head and got out of the car, shoving his hands down into his pockets and keeping his head lowered. He followed Dean up the porch steps and to Bobby's front door. Dean knocked nonchalantly on the older hunter's door a few times before it was finally answered. Bobby stood there with a strange expression on his face that read 'who the hell is coming here this time of night' but Dean could tell that Bobby hadn't been sleeping.

"Boys?" Bobby began, looking at them a tad confused. "What makes you come callin' at this time of night?"

Sam just bowed his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller than what he was, and attempting to hide behind Dean. It was obvious he still felt incredible guilty for going after Bobby and trying to kill him in his own home no less. The youngest hunter averted his eyes to stare down at the porch. It was almost like tiny toddler Sammy trying to hide behind big brother Dean the first time they'd met Bobby. He just wasn't that small anymore.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Dean exclaimed, heartily slapping a hand on their surrogate father's shoulder. "Thought you might not wanna spend Christmas alone. So, we figured we'd make a surprise visit."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Merry Christmas," Bobby responded, still a bit surprised by the boys' arrival but a pleased expression crossing his bearded face. "C'mon in, I was just brewin' some coffee. It's in the kitchen now. It's damned cold out here." Bobby ushered in the boys which Dean eagerly accepted the invitation while Sam was more reluctant.

"You know, I think maybe I'll just hang out out here for a bit, get some air," Sam told them, not looking at either one as he began turning his back, but felt a hand grasp his shoulder, and Sam recognized it as Bobby's touch.

"I said come in out of the cold, son, and I mean you too. Now c'mon. You don't need to be sittin' out here gettin' sick," the older hunter scolded gently and Sam complied, following the man inside of the house.

Dean had already seated himself on the couch and so Sam followed his brother, seating himself on the other end. Bobby had his old, three foot Christmas tree up and sitting on a table that sat across from the couch a ways. It was decorated with lights and a few ornaments here and there. It even had a star on top. Sam rested his elbow on the couch arm and his chin in his hand, trying not to look anywhere but the walls or the floor. Dean could feel Sam's uncomfortableness rolling off of him in waves. Every since the soul incident, Dean knew Sam didn't feel right being in Bobby's house. In fact, he was downright terrified that Bobby hated him, no matter how many times they'd reassured the boy they didn't hate him, Sam just didn't seem to accept it. Knowing Sam, he probably felt he deserved to be hated by the older hunter.

"So, you boys didn't just come out all this way _just_ to spend Christmas with me, did you?" Bobby inquired skeptically as he brought in hot cups of coffee for the brothers.

"Sure we did, Bobby!" Dean insisted as he lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip allowing the dark, hot liquid to fill him up and warm him to the bones. Sam just held his in between his hands, staring down into it.

"You contemplating on drowning yourself in that cup of coffee there, Sam, or are you gonna drink it?" Bobby questioned, one furry eyebrow raised at the younger hunter.

"Huh? What? No, of course not," Sam insisted. "Sorry," he apologized. He allowed his eyes to flick momentarily to Bobby, giving him a false smile before lifting the mug to his mouth and taking a tiny sip.

Bobby just rolled his eyes and turned back to Dean. "C'mon boy, now don't lie to me. I know the look. Somethin's going on. Why don't you tell me instead of puttin' on this...cheery Christmas facade?"

"Really, Bobby? I'm hurt," Dean replied facetiously, before his demeanor became more serious. "Well, we did want to spend Christmas with you of course, but Sam and I do want to talk to you about something."

"Uh huh, I thought so. So what you'd two yay-hoos get yourself into this time?" Bobby asked with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, we didn't really get ourselves into anything per-se," Dean sighed before sitting his mug on the table in front of him. Bobby sat himself down in the chair near the couch and the older Winchester leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his hands hanging loosely between his knees. "So, Cas came by and visited us tonight, and well...let's just say I thought we were trippin' at first, but uhhh. It was like being in a damn Christmas Carol, Bobby."

"Whaddya mean, boy?" Bobby asked, looking curious now, his thick brows drawn in as he examined the brothers. "A Christmas Carol?"

"Yeah, man, I wouldn't have believed it if we didn't really go through it, but just... Jessica showed first, you know Sam's girlfriend back when he was in Stanford? She took us to the past, and we saw, well...," Dean paused, not wanting to elaborate some of the more embarrassing moments that Jess had shown each of the boys. He rubbed the back of his head and chuckled uncomfortably. "Well, she took us and showed us each other's pasts which was certainly something we needed to see. A good reminder. Then we got back, and we went to sleep and then there was Dad!"

"Your daddy? You mean like John Winchester? Right there in the flesh?" Bobby continued, leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his chest now.

"Well, he was solid if that's what you mean," Dean responded, his hand rubbing his chin. "But that's besides the point. I mean he took us on this journey and showed us these families we'd saved and were living normal, happy lives because of us. It was like he was reminding us of our importance, Bobby. For the longest time I questioned it, but now I understand it. I mean, I really think I do," Dean told him, sounding earnest and honest. His green eyes bore down into the older hunter's and for the first time since Sam had gotten his soul back, Bobby could see Dean's eyes shining with some sort of newfound light.

"Well, that's good, son. You boys should both know because of your sacrifices and the things that you do as hunters has given all these people a chance to live normal, happy lives. I mean you stopped the damned apocalypse and saved the world from Lucifer. That's sayin' somethin'," Bobby insisted. He chose to ignore the flinch that came from Sam as he spoke the name 'Lucifer.' "So, did you see the future?" Bobby asked casually, sipping his coffee as if it were just an everyday, run of the mill question.

"Uhhh, y-yeah, we did," Dean stammered, quickly bringing his mug to his lips and taking a large mouthful of scalding, dark liquid as if wanting to avoid this particular topic, but there was no avoiding it when it came to Bobby. Both Sam and Dean knew that. Sam's hands were shaking now, and he carefully sat the coffee mug on the table, not wanting to risk spilling it all over himself. "It wasn't pleasant either," Dean gruffed after he swallowed his mouthful.

"It's alright, son, just tell me what you saw," Bobby urged gently. "It can't be all bad, now can it?"

Before Dean even had time to say a word, Sam stood up swiftly from the couch and took off out of the room, past the library, the kitchen and out the front door. Dean and Bobby exchanged glances as the sounds of Sam's footsteps died down from across the wooden planks, the porch and then they were gone. "Seeing the future was really hard on Sam," Dean told him with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head again.

Sam didn't bother letting the cold get to him as he made his way out into the chilly, dark, starless night, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, his breaths seen in tiny puffs. He had hardly even noticed it or even cared about it. He just had to get out of there, out of the house away from Bobby, away from Dean, two people whom he'd loved more than anything and had hurt more than anything. His big brother that he'd always looked up to no matter what. Bobby, the man who'd always been like a father to him and Dean both, but Sam was beginning to feel like he was suffocating while Dean was telling the story of the three ghosts, or whatever they were, visiting them tonight.

Try as he might, Sam still couldn't get the future scene that his mother had shown him out of his head, no matter what. Sam had tried to ignore it, brush it off, stuff it down and away, even tried to fall asleep on the drive up here, but it was the first thing that rose to his mind the minute he woke up as Dean roused him. It was bad enough Sam could see flashes of his time in Hell, his time in the cage and trapped with the most ultimate evil that ever walked the earth to know that it might happen again. Just the mere thought of Lucifer being inside of his body and mind again, controlling him like that made Sam's skin crawl. It just couldn't happen. No way, no how.

Sam traveled his familiar path through the salvage yard until he came to stand near a massive pile of scrap metal and tires. It was still tall enough to hide him. This had been the same spot that Sam had always retreated to when he needed time away from everybody and everything. He'd lost count of the times he'd ran out here as a child, hiding from Bobby when Dean and Dad had been out on a hunt and Sam couldn't go. Or the times he and Dean had gotten into fights, and little Sammy had ran out here to hide from his big brother. He'd came out here too after John had died. Dean had found him out here in a mess of grief and remorse, and he'd even come out here when he didn't want to talk to Bobby anymore about Dean's death, which was just a few years ago, but to Sam it felt like it had been much longer than that. Still, this place was comforting. Sam seated himself behind the large pile, drawing his knees up and folding his arms on top, his thoughts swirling in his head like an out-of-control tornado slinging debris in every direction possible, his thoughts being the debris. Sam felt lost. So very lost. What was he supposed to do? How could he avoid something like this happening again? The younger Winchester buried his face into his arms folded around his knees and tried to make his mind go blank but failed miserably.

"I knew I'd find you out here," came Dean's gruff voice somewhere around the front of Sam, but the younger Winchester didn't raise his head to look at his older brother. He knew Dean would come calling sooner or later. "You know, I walked all around Bobby's yard wondering how in the hell a gigantic, sasquatch-sized brother can hide himself when he's clearly taller than everything in the damn yard, but then I remembered this area. You used to come here all the time and hide yourself from us when you were a kid," Dean stated with a grunt as he sat himself on the cold ground next to his little brother.

"I remember when Dad died you came out here. We had a big fight out here, remember that? You actually decked me a pretty good one. I was kinda proud, and a little annoyed but more proud my brother finally grew some balls," Dean laughed, slapping Sam on the back. "I finally was able to coax you to come back in though after the fight. So, is this going to be a repeat of last time, Sam? Are we gonna have to beat each other's asses just to get you to drag your giant ass back in?" Dean inquired, trying to catch a glimpse of his brother's face, but it was hidden beneath his long, chestnut hair and thick jacket sleeves. Sam just shook his head, not wanting to look at his brother. "Uh huh. So, you mind telling me why you ran out of the house then?"

"Don't wanna talk about it," Sam mumbled into his arms.

"Oh c'mon Sam. Haven't we been down this route before? You don't think I can't see what's eatin' you here?" Dean inquired somewhat harshly. "Don't be stupid. I know that Mom's little journey to the future has you as tense as hooker's first night on the job." Dean had hoped to maybe get a chuckle out of his brother on that one, but not a sound escaped Sam. Dean's tone softened. "Look, man. I know this is hard, but we're gonna get through it Sammy. We'll get past this."

Finally, Sam raised his head, but it was averted away from Dean. He laughed a bitter-sounding laugh before standing up. "Get past this, Dean? Get past this like how? How can we avoid the future? How can we change it?" Sam threw his hands in the air as if he didn't have anymore ideas.

"Well there are a lot choices and decisions we can change that'll alter the future, Sammy. We just have to make the right ones," Dean told his little brother, standing up to follow him.

Sam began pacing the area behind the giant scrap metal pile, his hands raised up and running through his hair before he whirled around to face Dean, his expression tight with anger, his shoulders stiff with tension, and his eyes shining at his brother. "Don't you get it Dean? Don't you understand? I CAN'T go there again! I can't be Lucifer again! I can't have that evil bastard crawling around in my skin again. You just don't understand...you've never had something that's pure evil riding in your skin, using your hands to kill people without a care or second glance. No, Dean. No. No amount of pain or suffering will make go there again, Dean. NONE," Sam insisted, voice thick with emotion as he grabbed ahold of his brother's shoulders. "Absolutely none, Dean. I'm NOT going to be the cause of you dying. I'm just not going to be. I can't."

Dean just sighed resignedly, shaking his head and pulling away from his brother's grasp. "Sam, you saw it. You saw everything. You heard Mom. If you give up, you go your own way and we don't stick together, stick with hunting, then it's going to happen, Sam. It's just-," but Dean didn't have a chance to finish his sentence before was exploding at him.

"YOU DIDN'T JUST STAND THERE AND WATCH YOURSELF KILLING YOUR OWN BROTHER, DEAN! I HAD TO STAND THERE AND WATCH MYSELF, WITH LUCIFER IN ME AGAIN, SEND DEMONS TO ATTACK YOU, TO KILL YOU! AND I JUST LAUGHED AT YOU!" Sam's breaths were heaving, and he gasped for air. "Dammit Dean. If you actually think that I'm stupid enough to give up hunting now, then there is something seriously wrong here. Do you think that I didn't learn a damned thing tonight? At all?" Sam's hazel yes were widened and almost desperate looking now.

Dean couldn't hold back. "AND YOU DIDN'T JUST STAND THERE WATCHING YOUR YOUNGER BROTHER KILL YOU, AGAIN," Dean yelled back and instantly felt sorry as he watched Sam blanch violently at his words. He had forgotten about Dean telling him about the time Zachariah had had his older brother sent five years into the future where Sam was Sam no more, and Lucifer was wearing Sam's skin. "I'm sorry, Sammy, look. I didn't say that you didn't learn anything tonight. I'm just trying to explain to you that if you choose to leave, because I know you've been thinking it, then that's what's going to happen. Mom showed us that for a reason. You're not the only one who's been white-knuckling it here, Sam." He huffed a sigh as his brother turned away from him again, resting his hands on a chunk of metal in the scrap pile and leaning his weight into his arms and hands.

All was quiet as Sam just stared shell-shocked at his brother momentarily before turning away again. A steady snow had began falling from the sky, white and silent and neither brother seemed to acknowledge it. Sam just shook his dark head. "I'm sorry, Dean. I-I forgot about that. I'm really really sorry," he responded softly, voice deep and sounding so lost. Dean could tell that he was apologizing for something that wasn't even going to happen now, but that was just Sam's way.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean told him just as quietly, but the earnestness could be heard in his tone. "It's really okay." His eyebrows knitted together as he tilted his head slightly watching his brother. Sam just breathed out a sarcastic sounding laugh sounding like he was trying hide a sob before Dean saw the tears roll down his chiseled cheek, one sliding into the corner of Sam's mouth and the other trailing down the side of his nose. "Awww, Sammy c'mon now. We're gonna get through this, we truly are. As long as we stick together we can get through anything, right? And we've been through some serious shit in our lives, this is cakewalk."

Sam just sniffed, nodding his head in response. "Ugh god, I hate this," he stated, lifting a hand from the metal to scrub at his face which didn't do much good because more tears welled and followed the others in their wake. "It was so much easier sometimes not being able to feel anything," he laughed at himself, but then turned his gaze up to Dean, and his older brother just stared back in intense understanding.

Dean knew exactly what Sam meant. His memories of that day he'd told Sam about his own Hell experiences never left, memories of breaking down and losing complete composure in front of his kid brother, wishing that he couldn't feel a damned thing. He knew exactly what Sam was going through, but he wouldn't be Sam if he didn't feel. Dean knew that and so did Sam. A crying Sam was better than a soulless, cold, cruel Sam any day.

"Heh, maybe you and Bobby should just lock me in the panic room forever?" he laughed again, swiping at his eyes, but still completely useless because the tears didn't seem to want to stop coming. "Dean, I'm not going to let Lucifer in like that ever again. You know that, right? What it's like having that..._thing_ inside of you...it's just...I can't even explain it." Sam ran his free hand through his hair and rested it back against the metal pile.

"Sam, that's crazy. You know Bobby and I would never do that. You can't live in the damned panic room, but I do think that you learned something tonight. That we both did. I also think you aren't dumb enough to make a decision as insane as letting Lucifer wear you to the prom again," Dean pointed out.

Sam laughed for real this time. "Thanks, Dean. That actually is reassuring."

Dean walked over to his younger brother and put a hand on Sam's arm. "Sam, look at me," the older Winchester ordered, and Sam's moisture-filled hazels turned to look at his older brother as he was told. "You say you don't want to be Lucifer again. That nothing would ever make you say yes to him again, right?" Sam nodded his head. "So answer me this; do you really want to leave? Do you really want to give up being a hunter, Sam? Because I'm telling you, this shit that we're dealing with now? This is small fry stuff compared to what Lucifer would have cooking for us. We can work past this, Sam. We can get you through this, you understand? So, do you really want to leave?"

Sam shook his head stubbornly before he stood up, tugging his arm gently away from Dean's grasp and scrubbing both of his hands over his face. "No," he replied. "I don't want to leave. I want to keep on hunting. I want to keep fighting next to you. You know, having each other's backs and all that. We're a team, we're brothers. Family," Sam turned back toward his brother to find him smiling.

"So then are you with me, Sam?" Dean questioned his younger brother, still grinning, an eyebrow slightly raised.

"I'm with you 'til the end," Sam responded with a confirming nod of his head. He moved toward his brother, swiftly, and threw his arms tight around Dean's shoulders. Dean would be lying if he said that he hadn't actually had the same plan, but his arms wrapped tight around Sam, holding him close, feeling Sam's chest rising and falling heavily from his very recent emotional attack.

"You know, any other time this would be considered sacrilegious to a Winchester. You know we don't do chick flick moments," Dean stated into his brother's shoulder, but he wasn't about to relinquish hold any time soon, and closed his stinging, green eyes. That damned winter wind. Sam laughed into Dean's shoulder. It actually felt good to hug his brother like this, to know that Sam was still in there, still by his side and going to fight next to him. "You big, gigantic girl," Dean added slapping his brother hard on the back.

Sam pulled back from his older brother, hand still clutching his shoulder, and he laughed loudly and open-mouthed. "You know, I could say the same about you," Sam stated. "You weren't exactly Mister Keep-It-Together this last year yourself," he added, teasing his brother.

"Hey, I had perfectly good excuses!" Dean insisted as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Okay, I don't know about you, but I'm freezing my _ass_ off out here!"

"Yeah, I suppose me taking off wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do, huh? Let's go back in for Bobby starts bitching at us," Sam responded, rubbing the back of his neck in his typical embarrassed fashion. "Shit...it's snowing!" the younger Winchester pointed out holding a hand out to catch the flakes.

"You just now realized that, genius?" Dean scoffed, giving his brother a shove toward the house. Sam just gave a half grin and hitched his shoulder.

The two Winchester brothers began making their way up to Bobby's house before they saw the older hunter standing on the porch with his arms folded over his chest. "Are you two idjits comin' in the house or not? It's freezing out here. I don't wanna hear any of you whining or bitching if you catch a damn cold." Sam and Dean just exchanged glances and chose to ignore the grumbles coming from Bobby, barely making out the words 'lady parts' and 'tear-jerking conversations with you damn Winchesters.' "Let's go make breakfast for Christmas at least. You morons look like you could use the nourishment." The brothers made their way up the porch stairs and followed Bobby into the house with a slam of the door behind them.

Neither Sam nor Dean or even Bobby noticed Castiel as he peeked through the kitchen window, watching the family skittering around the kitchen, getting out eggs, bacon, toast and all the breakfast works. He smiled slightly to himself as he watched Sam smiling and talking to Dean; Dean responding with a laugh before he moved to another part of the kitchen. The brothers had finally come to understand their importance in the world, what they're meant to do, and how much they actually do mean to the people that they've saved. As well as the lives of the people that will be eventually be saved, but for now they could enjoy Christmas Day as a family like they deserved.

~The End~

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Okay, so I just wanted to give a gigantic thank you to those of you who have stuck by me this whole time! I have to say I am so happy that I was able to finish this story just in time for Christmas. It makes me feel fairly accomplished! LOL Forgive me for the more powerful emotions in this chapter. I just really wanted to get the way Sam and Dean were feeling across as best as I possibly could. I actually cried while writing this and cried as soon as I finished it. Haha. xD I'm a horrible sap. Anyway, again thank you to everybody who has reviewed and left such kind comments, words and has stayed with me this whole time I wrote this. I appreciate it more than you know. Thank you for the support and I hope that everybody has a very Merry Christmas a safe and Happy New Year! 3


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